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        <h3 align="center ">Study Webtext</h3>
        <h2 align="center "><font face="Lucida Handwriting " color="Maroon
        ">"Bartleby the Scrivener: A Story of Wall-Street " </font>(1853)&nbsp;<br/>
          Herman Melville</h2>
        <h2 align="center "><a href="http://www.vcu.edu/engweb/webtexts/bartleby.html
        " target="_blank "><img src="hmhome.gif " alt="To the story text without notes
        " height="38 " width="38 " align="absmiddle "/></a> 
        </h2>
        <h3 align="center ">Prepared by <a href="http://www.vcu.edu/engweb ">Ann 
          Woodlief,</a> Virginia Commonwealth University</h3>
		  <h5 align="center ">Click on text in red for hypertext notes and questions</h5>
        <a href="javascript:void(0); " onclick="return overlib(
        'Note that this story is told in first-person by this unnamed lawyer. That means that the reader has to figure out what sort of person he is in order to understand the &quot;angle&quot; or bias from which he presents his story. What sort of man would define himself immediately in terms of his age and nothing else?', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup ">I</a> 
        am a <a href="javascript:void(0); " onclick="return overlib(
        'Why does he stress that he is elderly? To show that he has had a wide range of experience? To suggest that he is very set in his ways?', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup
        ">rather elderly</a> man. The nature of my <a href="javascript:void(0); " onclick="return overlib(
        'Why does he say that being a lawyer is an &quot;avocation,&quot; meaning a hobby? Is it that Melville is suggesting that he does not take his career all that seriously?', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup ">avocations</a> 
        for the last thirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact 
        with what <a href="javascript:void(0); " onclick="return overlib(
        'Notice how he qualifies his statement, as if he is not quite sure they are so interesting.', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup
        ">would seem</a> an interesting and somewhat singular set of men of whom as yet 
        nothing that I know of has ever been written:-- I mean the <a href="javascript:void(0); " onclick="return overlib(
        'The job of a law-copyist was to do exactly what the name suggests--to copy precisely, with pen (or quill) and ink, legal documents (rather like a human xerox machine or carbon paper).', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup ">law-copyists</a> 
        or <a href="javascript:void(0); " onclick="return overlib(
        'The word means &quot;writers.&quot; Some critics have looked at this story as Melville\'s lament that the work of (creative) writers is so little appreciated,
        especially in financial terms. He struggled all his life to make a living
        by writing, whereas his brother Gansevoort, who worked on Wall Street,
        led a very comfortable life and never really understood why his brother
        bothered to write.
        ', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">scriveners</a>. 
        I have known very many of them, professionally and privately, and if I 
        pleased, could relate divers histories, at which good-natured gentlemen 
        might smile, and sentimental souls might weep. But I waive the biographies 
        of all other scriveners for a few <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Note the use of the word &quot;passages&quot; here (and only a few). He
        is looking at Bartleby\
        's life as a kind of literary production, but that production will be his, not Bartleby\'s. (Somewhat similar to the way that the copyists copy the lawyer\
        's words, not their own.)', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup ">passages</a> 
        in the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener the <a href="javascript:void(0);
        " onclick="return overlib(
        'Immediately he judges Bartleby, causing the reader to accept the judgment without knowing more at this point about the person.', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup ">strangest</a> 
        I ever saw or heard of. While of other law-copyists I might write the 
        <a href="javascript:void(0); " onclick="return overlib(
        'It is interesting that he assumes he knows &quot;all about&quot; other copyists, in spite of their great differences in class, education, experience, and power. Is this not presumptuous? Is part of his frustration with Bartleby because he will not reveal himself so that the lawyer can assume that he knows &quot;all&quot; about him?', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup ">complete life</a>, of Bartleby nothing of that sort can be done. I believe that 
        no materials exist for a full and <a href="javascript:void(0);
        " onclick="return overlib(
        'Satisfactory to whom? to the lawyer? to the reader? to both?', STICKY) " onmouseout="nd(); " class="popup ">satisfactory biography </a> of this man. It is an irreparable loss to literature. Bartleby 
        was one of those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable, except from 
        the original sources, and in his case those are very small. What my own 
        astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, that is all I know of him, except, indeed, 
        one vague report which will appear in the <a href="javascript:void(0);
        " onclick="return overlib(
        'Note that he promises there will be some sort of answer toward the end. Why does he call it a &quot;sequel&quot;? Does he recruit the reader\'s patience with the story by making this promise?&nbsp;
        ', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">sequel</a>. 
        <p>Ere introducing the scrivener, as he first appeared to me, it is fit 
          I make some mention of myself, my employees, my business, my chambers, 
          and general surroundings; because some such description is indispensable 
          to an adequate understanding of the chief character about to be presented. 
        </p><p> <i>Imprimis</i>: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been 
          filled with a profound conviction that <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('What sort of person is he, according to this statement? How will this
        change or be challenged in the story?
        ', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the easiest way of life is the best.</a>. Hence, though I belong to a profession 
          proverbially energetic and nervous, even to turbulence, at times, yet 
          nothing of that sort have I ever suffered to <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why does he use the word &quot;invade&quot;? Has he walled himself up?
        from what?
        ', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">invade</a> 
          my peace. I am one of those unambitious lawyers who never addresses 
          a jury, or in any way draws down public applause; but in the cool tranquillity 
          of a snug retreat, do a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('What does &quot;snug&quot; suggest about him? He seems to be unwilling
        to take risks in his work; how does this apply to his personal life?
        ', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">snug business</a> among rich men's bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. The late <a href="javascript:void(0);"
        onclick="return overlib('John Jacob Astor, 1763-1848, a German immigrant, became quite wealthy because of his shrewd dealings with Canadian Indians, trading whiskey and rifles to establish a very properous fur trade. He also stripped all the sandalwood from the Hawaiian Islands and smuggled opium in China. He invested that money in New York, buying foreclosed mortgages during the Panic of 1837 and building tenements, becoming the wealthiest person in the U.S. at the time of his death. Some model!', STICKY)"
        onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">John Jacob Astor</a>, a personage little given to poetic enthusiasm, had
        no hesitation in pronouncing my <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Note how he builds a description of himself. How would you describe him? Would you consider him a &quot;typical&quot; lawyer, businessman, or &quot;boss&quot;?', STICKY)"
        onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">first 
          grand point</a> to be prudence; my next, method. I do not <a href="javascript:void(0);"
        onclick="return overlib('By claiming not be to boasting, he draws attention to the fact that he is indeed boasting; he drops this famous name three times (just to make sure you get it!)', STICKY)"
        onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">speak 
          it in vanity</a>, but simply record the fact, that I was not
        unemployed in my profession by the last John Jacob Astor; a name which,
        I admit, I love to repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to
        it, and <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('gold. Clearly the lawyer is rather entranced by Astor\'s wealth. . As a &quot;hero&quot; for the narrator, he represents rapacious materialism.', STICKY)"
        onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">rings 
          like unto bullion.</a> I will freely add, that I was <a href="javascript:void(0);"
        onclick="return overlib('In fact, he seems to have been very impressed by Astor and his opinion. Is he trying to convince the reader that he has secure standing in the business community here? Is he trying too hard? Maybe even trying to convince himself? Why does he repeatedly emphasize that Astor is deceased?', STICKY)"
        onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">not 
          insensible to</a> the late John Jacob Astor's good opinion.</p>
        <p>Some time prior to the period at which this little history begins, my
            avocations had been largely increased. The good old office, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib(' Evidently the job was abolished because it was a sinecure, requiring little of the holder of the job for a great deal of money. Very likely it was a political appointment. New York did abolish this office in 1846 as part of an outdated court system.&nbsp; This would be a perfect kind of job for a writer, supporting his true vocation, but Melville was unable to find such work. His job at the Customs House was too demanding for him to write much and did not pay very much.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">now 
          extinct</a> in the State of New York, of a Master in Chancery,
            had been conferred upon me. It was not a very arduous office, but very
            pleasantly remunerative. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again, more description of his personality and character.Will we see these characteristics to be true in his encounter with Bartleby? If not, is it because he doesn\'t really know himself?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          seldom lose my temper</a>; much more seldom indulge in dangerous
            indignation at wrongs and outrages; but I must be permitted to be rash
            here and declare, that I consider the sudden and violent abrogation of
            the office of Master of Chancery, by the new Constitution, as a----<a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Note that he does not challenge the reason for abolishing the office, only that it was premature, and should have been done later (after his pockets were &quot;pleasantly&quot; filled.).', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">premature 
          act</a>; inasmuch as I had counted upon a life-lease of the
            profits, whereas I only received those of a few short years. But this is
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Is it? It would seem to be rather vital to understand this man and what sort of person he was before his encounter with Bartleby.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">by the way</a>.</p>
        <p>My chambers were up stairs at No.--Wall-street. At one end they looked
            upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft, penetrating
            the building from top to bottom. This view might have been considered rather
            tame than otherwise, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Landscape painters wouldn\'t be the only ones to find this blocked view not &quot;life&quot;! This seems to be an example of his kind of humor, tongue-in-cheek and a little factitious. On the other hand, perhaps the air of death in his chambers is more than a matter of setting.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">deficient 
          in what landscape painters call "life."</a> But if so, the view
            from the other end of my chambers offered, at least, a contrast, if nothing
            more. In that direction my windows commanded an unobstructed view of a
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Though it may contrast with the other brick wall, both are solid walls. Again, note his attempt to be humorous. But how funny is this fact of walls, for Bartleby or for him? Be alert that walls are also being used symbolically in this story (it is about &quot;Wall Street!). Also, this office with its &quot;high, blank walls&quot; is prison-like.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">lofty brick wall,</a>black by age and everlasting shade; which wall required
                no spy-glass to bring out its lurking beauties, but for the benefit of
                all near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to within ten feet of my window
                panes. Owing to the great height of the surrounding buildings, and my chambers
                being on the second floor, the interval between this wall and mine not
                a little resembled a huge square <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('An interesting comparison, since a cistern holds water, which is frequently an image for life. This one, of course, is dry.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">cistern</a>.</p>
        <p>At the period just preceding the advent of Bartleby, I had two persons
            as copyists in my employment, and a promising lad as an office-boy. First,
            Turkey; second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut.These may seem names, the like
            of which are not usually found in the Directory. In truth they were <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He does not ever give their real names. Why would they give each other such nicknames? Does it show affection? lack of respect? equality? Names seem to be very important in this story (except, of course, we don\'t have a name for the lawyer--a significant absence), and perhaps symbolic. Consider how the names fit the persons. Note that none of the characters has a visible family or home.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">nicknames</a>, mutually conferred upon
            each other by my three clerks, and were deemed expressive of their respective
            persons or characters. Turkey was a short, pursy Englishman of about my
            own age, that is, somewhere not far from sixty. In the morning, one might
            say, his face was of a fine florid hue, but after twelve o'clock, meridian--
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This is the first of many references to eating (although probably not the most important one!). How do these references play out in the story (culminating in &quot;he lives without eating?&quot;)? The only person who does not eat--although we may assume that he is well-fed--is the lawyer/narrator. Is this significant?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">his dinner hour</a>-- it blazed like a grate full of Christmas coals;
                and continued blazing--but, as it were, with a gradual wane--till 6 o'clock,
                P.M. or thereabouts, after which I saw no more of the proprietor of the
                face, which gaining its meridian with the sun, seemed to set with it, to
                rise, culminate, and decline the following day, with the like regularity
                and undiminished glory. There are many singular coincidences I have known
                in the course of my life, not the least among which was the fact that exactly
                when Turkey displayed his fullest beams from his red and radiant countenance,
                just then, too, at the critical moment, began the daily period when I considered
                his business capacities as seriously disturbed for the remainder of the
                twenty-four hours. Not that he was absolutely idle, or averse to business
                then; far from it. The difficulty was, he was apt to be altogether <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('In other words, he is not much use when he is showing too much liveliness.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">too 
          energetic</a>. There was a strange, inflamed, flurried, flighty
                recklessness of activity about him. He would be incautious in dipping his
                pen into his inkstand. All his blots upon my documents, were dropped there
                after twelve o'clock, meridian. Indeed, not only would he be reckless and
                sadly given to making blots in the afternoon, but some days he went further,
                and was rather <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Evidently the lawyer does not like to be disturbed with noise, especially noise of his clerks\' frustration.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">noisy</a>. At such times, too, his face
                flamed with augmented blazonry, as if <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Cannel, or soft, coal burns quickly and brightly; anthracite, or hard, coal burns more slowly and intensely.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">cannel 
          coal</a> had been heaped on anthracite. He made an unpleasant
                racket with his chair; spilled his sand-box; in mending his pens, impatiently
                split them all to pieces, and threw them on the floor in a sudden passion;
                stood up and leaned over his table, boxing his papers about in a most
                <a
                href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He does not behave in an orderly fashion, something the lawyer prizes. He is elderly, like the lawyer! In other words, they should both be more settled and calm because of their age?', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">indecorous manner, very sad to behold in an elderly man</a>like him. Nevertheless,
                    as he was in many ways a most valuable person to me, and all the time before
                    twelve o'clock, meridian, was the quickest, steadiest creature too, accomplishing
                    a great deal of work in a style not easy to be matched--for these reasons,
                    <a
                    href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Is he saying that he really should have fired him, and only out of the goodness of his heart has he kept him? How does this prepare the reader for his later relationship with Bartleby?', STICKY)"
                    onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I was willing</a>to overlook his eccentricities, though indeed, occasionally,
                        I remonstrated with him. I did this very gently, however, because, though
                        the civilest, nay, the blandest and most reverential of men in the morning,
                        yet in the afternoon he was disposed, upon provocation, to be slightly
                        rash with his tongue, in fact, insolent. Now, valuing his morning services
                        as I did, and resolved not to lose them; yet, at the same time made uncomfortable
                        by his inflamed ways after twelve o'clock; and being a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                        onclick="return overlib('or at least a man who does not like to have his peace disturbed! Note his willingness to live with a worker who functions well only half of the time. He seems to have some sympathetic perception of Turkey\'s frustration.', STICKY)"
                        onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">man 
          of peace</a>, unwilling by my admonitions to call forth unseemingly
                        retorts from him; I took upon me, one Saturday noon (he was always worse
                        on Saturdays), to hint to him, very kindly, that perhaps now that he was
                        growing old, it might be well to abridge his labors; in short, he need
                        not come to my chambers after twelve o'clock, but, dinner over, had best
                        go home to his lodgings and rest himself till tea-time. But no; he insisted
                        upon his afternoon <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why does he describe his afternoon excitability in these terms? Is he being ironic?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                        onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">devotions</a>. His countenance became
                        intolerably fervid, as he oratorically assured me--gesticulating with a
                        long ruler at the other end of the room--that if his services in the morning
                        were useful, how indispensible, then, in the afternoon?</p>
        <p>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Turkey is careful to &quot;keep his place&quot; with his boss, though his &quot;submission&quot; actually seems to be more suited to his morning than his afternoon work.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">With 
          submission, sir,</a>" said Turkey on this occasion, "I consider
            myself your right-hand man. In the morning I but marshal and deploy my
            columns; but in the afternoon <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why does he use this military image? Why does he point out that he &quot;puts himself at their head,&quot; in particular?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          put myself at their head</a>, and gallantly charge the foe,
            thus!"--and he made a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Look out for more &quot;violent thrusts&quot; in the story.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">violent 
          thrust</a> with the ruler.</p>
        <p>"But the blots, Turkey," intimated I.</p>
        <p>"True,--but, with submission, sir, behold these hairs! I am getting old.
            Surely, sir, a blot or two of a warm afternoon is not the page--is honorable.
            With submission, sir, we both are getting old."</p>
        <p><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Here we can see his weak--or perhaps his more compassionate--side, and a suggestion of identification with the feelings of his employees.',STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">This 
          appeal to my fellow-feeling</a> was hardly to be resisted. At
            all events, I saw that go he would not. So I made up my mind to let him
            stay, resolving, nevertheless, to see to it, that during the afternoon
            he had to do with my less important papers.</p>
        <p>Nippers, the second on my list, was a whiskered, sallow, and, upon the
            whole, rather <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Pirates rarely suffer from indigestion, do they? In what way could Nippers be considered like a pirate?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">piratical-looking</a> young man of about
            five and twenty. I always deemed him the victim of two evil powers-- ambition
            and indigestion. The ambition was evinced by a certain impatience of the
            duties of a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Note this word, one which seems to be attached to this job both by the boss (who actually could not function at all without his copyists) and the scriveners.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">mere 
          copyist,</a> an unwarrantable usurpation of strictly profession
            affairs, such as the <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('taking over without permission In other words, he took it upon himself to draw up legal documents, which he is evidently able to do. Very likely he feels fully capable of doing the lawyer\'s work, though he is not &quot;properly qualified&quot; to do so.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">original 
          drawing up</a> of legal documents. The indigestion seemed betokened
            in an occasional nervous testiness and grinning irritability, causing the
            teeth to audibly grind together over mistakes committed in copying; unnecessary
            maledictions, hissed, rather than spoken, in the heat of business; and
            especially by a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why is he so unhappy about the table? What does this show about him and his job?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">continual 
          discontent</a> with the height of the table where he worked.
            Though of a very ingenious mechanical turn, Nippers could never get this
            table to suit him. He put chips under it, blocks of various sorts, bits
            of pasteboard, and at last went so far as to attempt an exquisite adjustment
            by final pieces of folded blotting-paper. But no invention would answer.
            If, for the sake of easing his back, he brought the table lid at a sharp
            angle well up towards his chin, and wrote there like a man using the steep
            roof of a Dutch house for his desk:--then he declared that it stopped the
            circulation in his arms. If now he lowered the table to his waistbands,
            and stooped over it in writing, then there was a sore aching in his back.
            In short, the truth of the matter was, Nippers knew not what he wanted.
            Or, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This observation is probably quite true, and rather perceptive of the lawyer. He does seem to understand and sympathize with his employee\'s situation, but that does not mean he makes any move to change it (except to try rearranging so there are fewer blots for him to deal with).', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">if 
          he wanted anything</a>, it was to be rid of a scrivener's table
            altogether. Among the manifestations of his diseased ambition was a fondness
            he had for receiving visits from certain ambiguous-looking fellows in seedy
            coats, whom he called his clients. Indeed I was aware that not only was
            he, at times, considerable of a ward-politician, but he occasionally did
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('In other words, he was practicing law with poorer clients. Remember that in that time one did not need to go to law school; all he had to do was to have enough knowledge of the law to pass the bar exam--and the examiners, who were anxious to keep &quot;lower-class&quot; people out of the profession.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a little business</a>at the Justices' courts, and was not unknown on the
                steps of the Tombs. I have good reason to believe, however, that one individual
                who called upon him at my chambers, and who, with a grand air, he insisted
                was his client, was no other than a dun, and the alleged title-deed, a
                bill. But with all his failings, and the annoyances he caused me, Nippers,
                like his compatriot Turkey, was a very <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This is probably his prime value as a human being, in the lawyer\'s eyes.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">useful 
          man </a>to me; wrote a neat, swift hand; and, when he chose,
                was not deficient in a gentlemanly sort of deportment. Added to this, he
                <a
                href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Appearances are very important to the lawyer evidently. He makes it clear that he will forgive a person much who presents a good exterior to the public.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">always dressed</a>in a gentlemanly sort of way; and so, incidentally,
                    reflected credit upon my chambers. Whereas with respect to Turkey, I had
                    much ado to keep him from being a reproach to me. His clothes were apt
                    to look oily and smell of eating-houses. He wore his pantaloons very loose
                    and baggy in summer. His coats were execrable; his hat not to be handled.
                    But while the <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('In other words, the hat is okay because he doffs it as a sign of respect for his boss.', STICKY)"
                    onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">hat</a> was a thing of indifference to
                    me, inasmuch as his natural civility and deference, as a dependent Englishman,
                    always led him to doff it the moment he entered the room, yet his coat
                    was another matter. Concerning his coats, I reasoned with him; but with
                    no effect. The truth was, I suppose, that a man with so small an income,
                    could not afford to sport such a lustrous face and a lustrous coat at one
                    and the same time. As Nippers once observed, Turkey's money went chiefly
                    for red ink. One winter day<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He gives him a coat primarily so he will appear better for him, not out of any real sense of charity. See how this kind of transaction will work with Bartleby. It doesn\'t seem to work so well with Turkey either!', STICKY)"
                    onmouseout="nd();" class="popup"> 
          I presented Turkey</a> with a highly-respectable looking coat
                    of my own, a padded gray coat, of a most comfortable warmth, and which
                    buttoned straight up from the knee to the neck. I thought Turkey would
                    appreciate the favor, and abate his rashness and obstreperousness of afternoons.
                    But no. I verily believe that buttoning himself up in so downy and blanket-like
                    a coat had a pernicious effect upon him; upon the same principle that too
                    much oats are bad for horses. In fact, precisely as a rash, restive <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                    onclick="return overlib(' &quot;Feelings one\'s oats&quot; has become a cliche today, for it has lost its original metaphorical force. Here, however, Melville is very aware of the original comparison. Evidently a horse with overabundant oats gets very frisky and out of control, even as Turkey seems to be beyond the lawyer\'s control with his new coat. Does Turkey resent this gift, even though he needs it? Is that what makes him &quot;insolent&quot; to his boss? Why would he resent it?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                    onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">horse 
          is said to feel his oats</a>, so Turkey felt his coat. It made
                    him insolent. He was a man whom prosperity harmed.</p>
        <p>Though concerning the self-indulgent habits of Turkey I had my own private
            surmises, yet touching Nippers I was well persuaded that whatever might
            be his faults in other respects, he was, at least, a temperate young man.
            But indeed, nature herself seemed to have been his <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('a maker of wine. In other words, Nippers does not have to drink (as Turkey must at his dinner) to be equally restive and discontent.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">vintner</a>, and at his birth charged
            him so thoroughly with an irritable, brandy-like disposition, that all
            subsequent potations were needless. When I consider how, amid the stillness
            of my chambers, Nippers would sometimes impatiently rise from his seat,
            and stooping over his table, spread his arms wide apart, seize the whole
            desk, and move it, and jerk it, with a grim, grinding motion on the floor,
            as if the table were a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('What or whom is he substituting the table for?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">perverse 
          voluntary agent</a>, intent on thwarting and vexing him; I plainly
            perceive that for Nippers, brandy and water were altogether superfluous.</p>
        <p>It was fortunate for me that, owing to its course--indigestion--the irritability
            and consequent nervousness of Nippers, were mainly observable in the morning,
            while in the afternoon he was comparatively mild. So that Turkey's paroxysms
            only coming on about twelve o'clock, I never had to do with their eccentricities
            at one time. Their fits relieved each other like guards. When Nippers'
            was on, Turkey's was off, and vice versa. This was a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Under what circumstances? That anyone employed in such a job will necessarily be discontent and feel less than human? Note that he accepts them with their flaws, perhaps understanding that they may &quot;go with the job.&quot;&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">good 
          natural arrangement</a> under the circumstances.</p>
        <p>Ginger Nut, the third on my list, was a lad some twelve years old. His
            father was a carman, ambitious of seeing his son on the bench instead of
            a cart, before he died. So he sent him to my office as a student at law,
            errand boy, and cleaner and sweeper, at the rate of one dollar a week.
            He had a little desk to himself, but he did not use it much. Upon inspection,
            the drawer exhibited a great array of the shells of various sorts of nuts.
            Indeed, to this quick-witted youth the whole noble science of the law was
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again he uses a cliche to make a joke at the expense of one of his employees.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">contained in a nut-shell</a>. Not the least among the employments of Ginger
                Nut, as well as one which he discharged with the most alacrity, was his
                duty as cake and apple purveyor for Turkey and Nippers. Copying law papers
                being proverbially a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('an interesting metaphor, as it suggests emptiness', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">dry, 
          husky </a>sort of business, my two scriveners were fain to moisten
                their mouths very often with Spitzenbergs to be had at the numerous stalls
                nigh the Custom House and Post Office. Also, they sent Ginger Nut very
                frequently for that peculiar cake--small, flat, round, and very spicy--after
                which he had been named by them. Of a cold morning when business was but
                dull, Turkey would gobble up scores of these cakes, as if they were mere
                wafers--indeed they sell them at the rate of six or eight for a penny--the
                scrape of his pen blending with the crunching of the crisp particles in
                his mouth. Of all the fiery afternoon blunders and flurried rashnesses
                of Turkey, was his once moistening a ginger-cake between his lips, and
                clapping it on to a mortgage for a seal. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Would this have been adequate cause for firing a long-time employee? Does this show that the lawyer has a temper? Is he upset because he thinks that Turkey is not taking his business seriously enough?', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          came within an ace </a>of dismissing him then. But he mollified
                me by making an oriental bow, and saying--"With submission, sir, it was
                generous of me <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('in other words, supply you with stationery at my own expense. It must be morning; note his ornate &quot;submissiveness&quot;! Such a response is one that even the angry lawyer will respond to.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">to 
          find you</a> in stationery on my own account."</p>
        <p>Now my original business--that of a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('A conveyancer does the paper work to legally transfer property; a title hunter makes certain that titles of ownership are free and clear. Note that his business deals strictly with legal paperwork, not with matters of justice. Such paperwork is necessary only in a society where a person\'s word is likely not to be trustworthy, in other words, a world with flawed and dishonest communications.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">conveyancer 
          and title hunter</a>, and drawer-up of recondite documents of
            all sorts--was considerably increased by receiving the master's office.
            There was now great work for scriveners. Not only must I push the clerks
            already with me, but I must have additional help. In answer to my advertisement,
            a motionless young man one morning, stood upon my office threshold, the
            door being open, for it was summer. I can see that figure now--<a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('What an emotional as well as visual description is packed in these few words! We see more than a man; we see what he would become to the lawyer. Do you think that words like &quot;pitiable&quot; and &quot;incurable&quot; would have occurred to the lawyer at that moment? Or is he also juxtaposing his later understanding of Bartleby? (and himself?)&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">pallidly 
          neat</a>, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn! It was Bartleby.</p>
        <p>After a few words touching his qualifications, I engaged him, glad to
            have among <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('here is used as a military image, appropriate for the hierarchy which clearly exists in this office.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">my 
          corps</a> of copyists a man of so <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Note that he chooses Bartleby primarily for his sense of calm and lack of excitability and presentability, and for little else. He takes him at his word about his experience.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">singularly 
          sedate</a> an aspect, which I thought might operate beneficially
            upon the flighty temper of Turkey, and the fiery one of Nippers.</p>
        <p>I should have stated before that ground glass folding-doors divided my
            premises into two parts, one of which was occupied by my scriveners, the
            other by myself. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He has full control over the doors, and thus over the ability to communicate in the office. But he opens them not for logical reasons but almost on whim, depending on his mood or &quot;humor.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">According 
          to my humor</a> I threw open these doors, or closed them. I resolved
            to assign Bartleby a corner by the folding-doors, but on my side of them,
            so as to have this quiet man within easy call, in case any <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He will put him on the &quot;communicating&quot; side primarily to take care of trifles, then, not because he cares to communicate with him. At the same time, he is dividing him from his fellow workers.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">trifling 
          thing</a> was to be done. I placed his desk close up to a small
            side window in that part of the room, a window which originally had afforded
            a lateral view of certain grimy back-yards and bricks, but which, owing
            to <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('At this point, the reader is reminded that they are in New York City, and that the tall buildings block views from windows. (no glimpses of the green of Central Park in this office!) The connection of walls and the urban setting seems important in this story.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">subsequent 
          erections,</a> commanded at present no view at all, though it
            gave some light. Within three feet of the panes was a wall, and the light
            came down from far above, between two lofty buildings, as from a very small
            opening in a dome. Still further to a satisfactory arrangement, I procured
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Although it is green, it is hardly &quot;natural,&quot; especially since it walls Bartleby off from the lawyer\'s sight and his fellow workers. In fact, note that he is walled off, either by the screen, the doors, or the wall outside the window, on all sides. What do you think of this judgment: &quot;Bartleby\'s cubicle faces a ded, blind wall that symbolizes the moral blindness of the laws and the invisibility of the underclass on whose labor prosperity depends.&quot;&nbsp; (Robertson-Lorant, 333)', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a high green folding screen</a>, which might entirely isolate Bartleby
                from my sight, though not remove him from <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('And the primary function of that &quot;voice&quot; is to summon Bartleby to do &quot;trifling things.&quot;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">my 
          voice</a>. And thus, in a manner, privacy and society were
                <a
                href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Brought together for whom? the lawyer? Bartleby?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">conjoined.</a>
        </p>
        <p>At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This is the first of many references to eating (although probably not the most important one!). How do these references play out in the story (culminating in &quot;he lives without eating?&quot;)? The only person who does not eat--although we may assume that he is well-fed--is the lawyer/narrator. Is this significant?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">famishing</a>for something to copy, he seemed to <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('Now we\'re getting some serious eating imagery', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">gorge</a> himself on my documents. There
                was no pause for digestion. He ran a day and night line, copying by sun-light
                and by candle-light. I should have been quite delighted with his application,
                had be been <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He\'s a tough boss to please! Not only does he like Bartleby\'s extraordinary devotion to his job but he wants him to be happy in the process. Such a man--and the assumptions he has about the ideal employee (not unlike a &quot;happy slave&quot;?) would be most difficult to work for, for there\'s no way he would be pleased with any sort of normal work and attitude.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">cheerfully 
          industrious</a>. But he wrote on silently, palely, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('A key word for the scrivener who is essentially a human copying machine.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">mechanically.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>It is, of course, an indispensable part of a scrivener's business to verify
            the accuracy of his copy, word by word. Where there are two or more scriveners
            in an office, they assist each other in this examination, one reading from
            the copy, the other holding the original. It is a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He is certainly correct, but how would he know? Surely he has never had to do such work!', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">very 
          dull, wearisome, and lethargic</a> affair. I can readily imagine
            that to some <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('ardently optimistic, cheerful. In other words, he concedes that a certain melancholy or maladjustment makes for a better employee.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">sanguine</a> temperaments it would be altogether
            intolerable. For example, I cannot credit that the <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He has chosen a romantic poet, famed for his adventuresome spirit (although &quot;mettlesome&quot; suggests he doesn\'t care much for poets.) Some interpret this passage as suggesting that no creative person could survive such work, even though it might be necessary for making a decent living. He seems to recognize that legal copying is blinding, cramping, uncreativework.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">mettlesome 
          poet Byron</a> would have contentedly sat down with Bartleby
            to examine a law document of, say five hundred pages, closely written in
            a crimpy hand.</p>
        <p>Now and then, in the haste of business, it had been my habit to assist
            in comparing some brief document myself, calling Turkey or Nippers for
            this purpose. One object I had in placing Bartleby so handy to me behind
            the screen, was to avail myself of his services on such <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Again he reminds the reader that he hopes Bartleby will be available for what he freely admits are trivialities.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">trivial 
          occasions</a>. It was on the third day, I think, of his being
            with me, and before any necessity had arisen for having his own writing
            examined, that, being much hurried to complete a small affair I had in
            hand, I abruptly called to Bartleby. In my haste and <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('According to his theory of management, when the boss says &quot;jump,&quot; his employees should say &quot;how high?&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">natural 
          expectancy of instant compliance</a>, I sat with my head bent
            over the original on my desk, and my right hand sideways, and somewhat
            nervously extended with the copy, so that immediately upon emerging from
            his retreat, Bartleby might <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Evidently he doesn\'t know his man at all if he expects him to &quot;snatch&quot; anything!&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">snatch</a> it and proceed to business without
            the least delay.</p>
        <p>In this very attitude did I sit when I called to him, rapidly stating
            what it was I wanted him to do--namely, to examine a small paper with me.
            Imagine my surprise, nay, my consternation, when without moving from his
            privacy, Bartleby in a singularly <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('These would seem to be very significant adjectives and they are used frequently to describe his voice and demeanor', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">mild, 
          firm voice</a>, replied,<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Note that he does not say &quot;no&quot; and that he is very polite. The underlying assumption is that his preferences should matter. Should they? Do they, in this business world? By voicing a personal preference, Bartleby throws a monkey wrench into the whole system.&quot; In &quot;Civil Disobedience,&quot; Thoreau writes that a person who resists oppression acts as &quot;a counter-friction to the machine&quot; that crushes initiative and creativity. Bartleby is not Thoreau, but he seems to understand the power of passive resistance.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">"I 
          would prefer not to."</a> 
        </p>
        <p>I sat awhile in perfect silence, rallying my stunned faculties. Immediately
            it occurred to me that my ears had deceived me, or Bartleby had entirely
            misunderstood my meaning. I repeated my request in the clearest tone I
            could assume. But in quite as clear a one came the previous reply, "I would
            prefer not to."</p>
        <p>"Prefer not to," echoed I, rising in high excitement, and crossing the
            room with a stride, "What do you mean? Are you <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('i.e. &quot;looney&quot; (from &quot;lune-ey&quot;). For some reason, there is a common tie between the moon and mild madness! Actually it\'s the lawyer who seems to be &quot;struck,&quot; psychologically anyhow. Notice that the imagery of blows and thrusts (like fencing?) will be repeated.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">moon-struck</a>? I want you to help me
            compare this sheet here--take it," and I thrust it towards him.</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to," said he.</p>
        <p>I looked at him steadfastly. His face was leanly composed; his gray eye
            dimly calm. Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. Had there been the
            least uneasiness, anger, impatience or impertinence in his manner; in other
            words, had there been any thing <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('How is Bartleby not ordinarily human, at this point? Does this mean he is someh divine? saintly? or inhuman? or just very special in some sense because he does not show violent emotion (which the narrator has adjusted himself to with his other two employees.)', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">ordinarily 
          human</a> about him, doubtless <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Perhaps this is standard business behavior (although the &quot;violence&quot; might not be).', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          should have violently dismissed</a> him from the premises. But
            as it was, I should have as soon thought of turning my pale <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('>How is Bartleby like this wise philosopher?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">plaster-of-paris 
          bust of Cicero</a> out of doors. I stood gazing at him awhile,
            as he went on with his own writing, and then reseated myself at my desk.
            This is very strange, thought I. What had <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Why does he use the impersonal pronoun here? After all, the real question is what should HE do.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">one</a> best do? But my business hurried
            me. I concluded to forget the matter for the present, reserving it for
            my future leisure. So calling Nippers from the other room, the paper was
            speedily examined.</p>
        <p>A few days after this, Bartleby concluded four lengthy documents, being
            quadruplicates of a week's testimony taken before me in my High Court of
            Chancery. It became necessary to examine them. It was an important suit,
            and great accuracy was imperative. Having all things arranged I called
            Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut from the next room, meaning to place the
            four copies in the hands of my four clerks, while I should read from the
            original. Accordingly Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut had taken their seats
            in a row, each with his document in hand, when I called to Bartleby to
            join this <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Is he being ironic here', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">interesting 
          group</a>.</p>
        <p>"Bartleby! quick, I am waiting."</p>
        <p>I heard a low scrape of his chair legs on the unscraped floor, and soon
            he appeared standing at the entrance of his <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('A telling word which will be used repeatedly. A hermitage is a secluded or hidden residence, in which a hermit may reside (although not necessarily). But the seclusion was actually arranged by the lawyer, not Bartleby (so maybe it encourages his being a &quot;hermit&quot;?)&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">hermitage.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>"What is wanted?" said he mildly.</p>
        <p>"The copies, the copies," said I hurriedly. "We are going to examine them.
            There"--and I held towards him the fourth quadruplicate.</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to," he said, and gently disappeared behind the screen.</p>
        <p>For a few moments I was turned into <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This is a reference to Genesis 19:26, where Lot\'s wife was turned into a pillar of salt for disobeying God and looking back to Sodom. Ironically, it seems to be Bartleby who is disobedient. Again, he is &quot;struck&quot; still by astonishment. He is temporarily immobile; Bartleby is also immobile behind the screen.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a 
          pillar of salt,</a> standing at the head of my seated column
            of clerks. Recovering myself, I <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('a military term again. Note that he advances to the screen, not to the man.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">advanced</a> towards the screen, and demanded
            the reason for such extraordinary conduct.</p>
        <p>"<i>Why</i> do you refuse?"</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to."</p>
        <p>With any other man I should have <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Another reminder that he is susceptible to violent rages, although he considers himself a prudent and reasonable man. What about Bartleby restrains--or significantly, &quot;disarms&quot;--him?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">flown 
          outright into a dreadful passion,</a> scorned all further words,
            and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But there was something
            about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful
            manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him.</p>
        <p>"These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labor saving
            to you, because one examination will answer for your four papers. <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Just because something is &quot;common usage&quot;, does that make it humane or right?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">It 
          is common usage.</a> Every copyist is bound to help examine his
            copy. Is it not so? Will you not speak? Answer!"</p>
        <p>"I prefer not to," he replied in a flute-like tone. It seemed to me that
            while I had been addressing him, he carefully revolved every statement
            that I made; fully comprehended the meaning; could not gainsay the irresistible
            conclusion; but, at the same time, some paramount consideration prevailed
            with him to reply as he did.</p>
        <p>"You are decided, then, not to comply with my request--a request made
            according to common usage and common sense?"</p>
        <p>He briefly gave me to understand that on that point <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib(' He does like to think of himself as reasonable. Whether that\'s what Bartleby thinks (the narrator is the one to use this phrase) is another question. Certainly Bartleby is calmer.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">my 
          judgment was sound.</a> Yes: his decision was irreversible.</p>
        <p>It is not seldom the case that when a man is <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Has he been browbeaten? (think about that word!) Why is he overreacting?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">browbeaten</a> in some unprecedented and
            violently unreasonable way, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again, he is struck, and now he doesn\'t even trust himself.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">he 
          begins to stagger</a> in his own plainest faith. He begins, as
            it were, vaguely to surmise that, wonderful as it may be, all the justice
            and all the reason is on the other side. Accordingly, if any disinterested
            persons are present, he turns to them for some reinforcement for his own
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Note his response here of self-doubt. Why is that? Why would he then turn to support to his other employees, whom he does not appear to respect very much? Is there desperation in his appeal?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">faltering mind.</a>
        </p>
        <p>"Turkey," said I, "what do you think of this? Am I not right?"</p>
        <p>"With submission, sir," said Turkey, with his blandest tone, "I think
            that you are."</p>
        <p>"Nippers," said I, "what do<i> you</i> think of it?"</p>
        <p>"I think I should kick him out of the office."</p>
        <p>(The reader of nice perceptions will here perceive that, it being morning,
            Turkey's answer is couched in polite and tranquil terms, but Nippers replies
            in ill-tempered ones. Or, to repeat a previous sentence, Nipper's ugly
            mood was on duty, and Turkey's off.)</p>
        <p>"Ginger Nut," said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my behalf,
            "what do<i> you</i> think of it?"</p>
        <p>"I think, sir, he's a little<i> luny</i>," replied Ginger Nut, with a
            grin.</p>
        <p>"You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the screen, "come forth
            and <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('His &quot;duty&quot; here is verified by his fellow clerks then. What authority do they hold? As Turkey says repeatedly, he responds &quot;with submission.&quot; The idea of &quot;doing your duty&quot; will come back to haunt the narrator toward the end', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">do 
          your duty</a>."</p>
        <p>But he vouchsafed no reply. I pondered a moment in sore perplexity. But
            once more business hurried me. I determined <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('This makes twice he decides to &quot;think about it.&quot; This will become a pattern in his response to Bartleby.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">again</a> to postpone the consideration
            of this dilemma to my future leisure. With a little trouble we made out
            to examine the papers without Bartleby, though at every page or two, Turkey
            deferentially dropped his opinion that this proceeding was quite out of
            the common; while Nippers, twitching in his chair with a dyspeptic nervousness,
            ground out between his set teeth occasional hissing maledictions against
            the stubborn oaf behind the screen. And for his (Nipper's) part, this was
            the first and the last time he would do another man's business without
            pay.</p>
        <p>Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to every thing but
            his own peculiar business there.</p>
        <p>Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon another lengthy work.
            His late remarkable conduct led me to regard his way narrowly. I observed
            that he never went to dinner; indeed that he never went any where. As yet
            I had never of my personal knowledge known him to be outside of my office.
            He was a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again a military image, and a very immobile one at that.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">perpetual 
          sentry</a> in the corner. At about eleven o'clock though, in
            the morning, I noticed that Ginger Nut would advance toward the opening
            in Bartleby's screen, as if silently beckoned thither by a gesture invisible
            to me where I sat. That boy would then leave the office jingling a few
            pence, and reappear with a handful of ginger-nuts which he delivered in
            the hermitage, receiving two of the cakes for his trouble.</p>
        <p>He lives, then, on ginger-nuts, thought I; never eats a dinner, properly
            speaking; he must be a vegetarian then, but no; he never eats even vegetables,
            he <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('At this point he doesn\'t actually know that this is true, so why does he imagine that it is?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">eats 
          nothing but ginger-nuts</a>. My mind then ran on in reveries
            concerning the probable effects upon the human constitution of living entirely
            on ginger-nuts. Ginger-nuts are so called because they contain ginger as
            one of their peculiar constituents, and the final flavoring one. Now what
            was ginger? A hot, spicy thing. Was Bartleby hot and spicy? Not at all.
            Ginger, then, had no effect upon Bartleby. Probably<a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He seems to be trying to be humorous about it all here. But notice that &quot;the phrase&quot; has already become part of his thinking, perhaps without his realizing it.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup"> 
          he preferred it should have none.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Some readers see a reflection of Henry David Thoreau, author of &quot;Civil Disobedience,&quot; in this stance. However, Thoreau was not passive; he just did not act violently. He refused to compromise to the business world, choosing to live cheaply as possible so that he would be able to write.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">passive 
          resistance.</a> If the individual so resisted be of a not inhumane
            temper, and the resisting one perfectly harmless in his passivity; then,
            in the better moods of the former, he will endeavor charitably to <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('This is exactly what he is going to do.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">construe 
          to his imagination</a> what proves impossible to be solved by
            his judgment. Even so, for the most part, I regarded Bartleby and his ways.
            Poor fellow! thought I, he means no mischief; it is plain he intends no
            insolence; his aspect sufficiently evinces that his eccentricities are
            involuntary. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This, of course, is the primary reason he keeps him at this point, not because of any respect or compassion.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">He 
          is useful to me</a>. I can get along with him. If I turn him
            away, the chances are he will fall in with some less indulgent employer,
            and then he will be rudely treated, and perhaps driven forth miserably
            to starve. Yes. Here <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('In other words, he will tolerate Bartleby not because he cares for him, but because he can gain points in heaven for it and feel good about being so benevolent. Note the words &quot;purchase&quot; and &quot;delicious.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          can cheaply purchase</a> a delicious self-approval. To befriend
            Bartleby; to humor him in his strange willfulness, will cost me little
            or nothing, while I lay up in my soul what will eventually prove a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('An interesting instance of food imagery!', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">sweet 
          morsel</a> for my conscience. But this mood was not invariable
            with me. The passiveness of Bartleby sometimes irritated me. I felt strangely
            goaded on to encounter him in new opposition, to elicit some angry spark
            from him answerable to my own. But indeed I might as well have essayed
            to strike fire with my knuckles against a bit of <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('a brand of soft hand soap', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();"
            class="popup">Windsor 
          soap</a>. But one afternoon the evil impulse in me mastered
            me, and the following little scene ensued:</p>
        <p>"Bartleby," said I, "when those papers are all copied, I will compare
            them with you."</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to."</p>
        <p>"How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('so he\'s a mule? No wonder there is no answer to this insult.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">mulish 
          vagary?</a>"</p>
        <p>No answer.</p>
        <p>I threw open the folding-doors near by, and turning upon Turkey and Nippers,
            exclaimed in an excited manner--</p>
        <p>"He says, a second time, he won't examine his papers. What do you think
            of it, Turkey?"</p>
        <p>It was afternoon, be it remembered. Turkey sat glowing like a brass boiler,
            his bald head steaming, his hands reeling among his blotted papers.</p>
        <p>"Think of it?" roared Turkey; "I think I'll just step behind his screen,
            and black his eyes for him!"</p>
        <p>So saying, Turkey rose to his feet and threw his arms into a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('like a fighter. Again we have violent imagery.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">pugilistic 
          position</a>. He was hurrying away to make good his promise,
            when I detained him, alarmed at the effect of incautiously rousing Turkey's
            combativeness after dinner.</p>
        <p>"Sit down, Turkey," said I, "and hear what Nippers has to say. What do
            you think of it, Nippers? Would I not be justified in immediately dismissing
            Bartleby?"</p>
        <p>"Excuse me, that is for you to decide, sir. I think his conduct quite
            unusual, and indeed unjust, as regards Turkey and myself. But it may only
            be a passing whim."</p>
        <p>"Ah," exclaimed I, "you have strangely changed your mind then--you speak
            very gently of him now."</p>
        <p>"All beer," cried Turkey; "gentleness is effects of beer--Nippers and
            I dined together to-day. You see how gentle I am, sir. Shall I go and black
            his eyes?"</p>
        <p>"You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not to-day, Turkey," I replied;
            "pray, put up your fists."</p>
        <p>I closed the doors, and again advanced towards Bartleby. I felt additional
            incentives tempting me to my fate. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is provoking Bartleby to fulfill some personal needs of his own. What might they be?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          burned to be rebelled against again.</a> I remembered that Bartleby
            never left the office.</p>
        <p>"Bartleby," said I, "Ginger Nut is away; just step round to the <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('As we will see later, Bartleby may have good reason for not going there.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Post 
          Office</a>, won't you? (it was but a three minutes walk,) and
            see if there is any thing for me."</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to."</p>
        <p>"You<i> will</i> not?"</p>
        <p>"I <i>prefer</i> not."</p>
        <p>I <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is clearly deeply shaken.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">staggered</a> to my desk, and sat there
            in a deep study. My <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('tenacity. They are both being stubborn!', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">blind 
          inveteracy</a> returned. Was there any other thing in which I
            could procure myself to be <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('dishonorably, disgracefully. Evidently he is sensitive about being humiliated.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">ignominiously</a> repulsed by this lean,
            penniless with?--<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Not a troubled human being, but his &quot;hired clerk&quot; (almost his slave?) Why does he continue to try to provoke him?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">my 
          hired clerk</a>? What added thing is there, perfectly reasonable,
            that he will be sure to refuse to do?</p>
        <p>"Bartleby!"</p>
        <p>No answer.</p>
        <p>"Bartleby," in a louder tone.</p>
        <p>No answer.</p>
        <p>"Bartleby," I roared.</p>
        <p>Like <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('There will be several references to him as ghostly, perhaps showing death-in-life.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a 
          very ghost</a>, agreeably to the laws of magical invocation,
            at the third summons, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage.</p>
        <p>"Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me."</p>
        <p>"I prefer not to," he <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is always polite and respectful, even when he is being insulted.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">respectfully 
          </a>and slowly said, and mildly disappeared.</p>
        <p>"Very good, Bartleby," said I, in a quiet sort of serenely severe self-possessed
            tone, intimating the unalterable purpose of some <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('What could he have in mind? Oh well, he\'s hungry and doesn\'t want to bother punishing Bartleby.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">terrible 
          retribution</a> very close at hand. At the moment I half intended
            something of the kind. But upon the whole, as it was drawing towards my
            dinner-hour, I thought it best to put on my hat and walk home for the day,
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why is he so very disturbed? Does he feel he is being personally attacked? punished?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">suffering much from perplexity and distress of mind</a>.</p>
        <p> <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Here he is openly appealing to the reader, perhaps even confessing. Is this whole story an effort to justify what he has done?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Shall 
          I acknowledge it?</a> The conclusion of this whole business was
            that it soon became a fixed fact of my chambers, that a pale young scrivener,
            by the name of Bartleby, had a desk there; that he copied for me at the
            usual rate of <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This shows that Bartleby was not paid by the hour or salary, but &quot;by the piece,&quot; as the others must be.mThat means that the lawyer did not have to pay for work done slowly and poorly, only for acceptable work.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">four 
          cents a folio </a>(one hundred words); but he was permanently
            exempt from examining the work done by him, that duty being transferred
            to Turkey and Nippers, one of compliment doubtless to their superior acuteness;
            moreover, said Bartleby was never on any account to be dispatched on the
            most trivial errand of any sort; and that even if entreated to take upon
            him such a matter, it was generally understood that he would prefer not
            to--in other words, that he would refuse <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Though he certainly refuses, is it &quot;point blank&quot;?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">point-blank.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>32 As days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His
            steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry (except
            when he chose to throw himself into a standing revery behind his screen),
            his great stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under all circumstances,
            made him <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('The lawyer convinces himself of Bartleby\'s &quot;virtues.&quot; Note that he speaks of him not as a person, but a &quot;valuable acquisition&quot;! Do you think Bartleby is aware of this dehumanizing attitude?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a 
          valuable acquisition</a>. One prime thing was this,--he was
            always there;--first in the morning, continually through the day, and the
            last at night. I had a singular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most
            precious papers perfectly safe in his hands. Sometimes to be sure I could
            not, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('what a curious statement! Is Bartleby in some way connected with the lawyer\'s soul?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">for 
          the very soul of me</a>, avoid falling into sudden spasmodic
            passions with him. For it was exceeding difficult to bear in mind all the
            time those strange peculiarities, privileges, and unheard of exemptions,
            forming the tacit stipulations on Bartleby's part under which he remained
            in my office. Now and then, in the eagerness of dispatching pressing business,
            I would inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his
            finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red tape with which I was
            about compressing some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the usual
            answer, "I prefer not to," was sure to come; and then, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Is he defending himself here? For whom? Why?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">how 
          could a human creature</a> with the common infirmities of our
            nature, refrain from bitterly exclaiming upon such perverseness--such unreasonableness.
            However, every added repulse of this sort which I received only <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Bartleby seems to be conditioning him very well.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">tended 
          to lessen</a> the probability of my repeating the inadvertence.</p>
        <p>Here is must be said, that according to the custom of most legal gentlemen
            occupying chambers in densely-populated law buildings, there were several
            keys to my door. One was kept by a woman residing in the attic, which person
            weekly scrubbed and daily swept and dusted my apartments. Another was kept
            by Turkey for convenience sake. The third I sometimes carried in my own
            pocket. The fourth I knew not who had.</p>
        <p>Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('In other words, why else would he go to church? His moral condition does not seem to be very strong, or his generosity very deep.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">to 
          hear a celebrated preacher</a>, and finding myself rather early
            on the ground, I thought I would walk round to my chambers for a while.
            Luckily I had my key with me; but upon applying it to the lock, I found
            it resisted by something inserted from the inside. Quite surprised, I called
            out; when to my consternation a key was turned from within; and thrusting
            his lean visage at me, and holding the door ajar, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Recall that he has already called him a ghost', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          apparition</a> of Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and
            otherwise in a strangely tattered dishabille, saying quietly that he was
            sorry, but he was deeply engaged just then, and--preferred not admitting
            me at present. In a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps
            I had better walk round the block two or three times, and by that time
            he would probably have concluded his affairs. Now, the utterly <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Why is he so surprised? He has already commended Bartleby for working so many hours overtime--and for no extra pay.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">unsurmised 
          appearance</a> of Bartleby, tenanting my law-chambers of a Sunday
            morning, with his <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This description adds to the idea of Bartleby as being somehow a &quot;living dead&quot; person.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">cadaverously</a> gentlemanly nonchalance,
            yet withal firm and self-possessed, had such a strange effect upon me,
            that incontinently I slunk away from my own door, and did as desired. But
            not without sundry twinges of impotent rebellion against the mild effrontery
            of this unaccountable scrivener. Indeed, it was his wonderful mildness
            chiefly, which not only disarmed me, but <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('A &quot;real man&quot; would have dealt immediately and definitely with such defiance, right? This does seem to be a royal battle of wills at this point, and he\'s afraid he\'s losing--and losing face (a big kind of loss for a person who cherishes appearances).', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">unmanned</a> me, as it were. For I consider
            that one, for the time, is a sort of unmanned when he tranquilly permits
            his hired clerk to dictate to him, and <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Was what Bartleby said an &quot;order&quot;? Or does he just take it that way because his &quot;inferior&quot; is not showing proper respect for his property and rights?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">order 
          him</a> away from his own premises. Furthermore, I was full of
            uneasiness as to what Bartleby could possibly be doing in my office in
            his shirt sleeves, and in an otherwise dismantled condition of a Sunday
            morning. Was any thing amiss going on? Nay, that was out of the question.
            It was not to be thought of for a moment that Bartleby was an immoral person.
            But what could he be doing there?--copying? Nay again, whatever might be
            his eccentricities, Bartleby was an eminently decorous person. He would
            be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to nudity.
            Besides, it was Sunday; and there was something about Bartleby that forbade
            the supposition that we would by any secular occupation violate <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('One thing he likes about Bartleby is his dress and observation of &quot;proprieties,&quot; in short, how well he makes his boss to appear.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          proprieties</a> of the day.</p>
        <p>Nevertheless, my mind was not pacified; and full of a restless curiosity,
            at last I returned to the door. Without hindrance I inserted my key, opened
            it, and entered. Bartleby was not to be seen. I looked round anxiously,
            peeped behind his screen; but it was very plain that he was gone. Upon
            more closely examining the place, I surmised that for an indefinite period
            Bartleby must have ate, dressed, and slept in my office, and that too without
            plate, mirror, or bed. The cushioned seat of a rickety old sofa in one
            corner bore t faint impress of a lean, reclining form. Rolled away under
            his desk, I found a blanket; under the empty grate, a blacking box and
            brush; on a chair, a tin basin, with soap and a ragged towel; in a newspaper
            a few crumbs of ginger-nuts and a morsel of cheese. Yet, thought I, it
            is evident enough that Bartleby has been making his home here, keeping
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Presumably the lawyer is also a bachelor. They may have more in common than immediately appears to be! Both are probably well acquainted with loneliness.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">bachelor's hall</a>all by himself. Immediately then the thought came sweeping
                across me, What miserable friendlessness and loneliness are here revealed!
                His poverty is great; but his solitude, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again his sympathy is aroused. Obviously he can imagine with great feeling--perhaps a feeling that he himself has experienced?', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">how 
          horrible!</a> Think of it. Of a Sunday, Wall-street is deserted
                as <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('an ancient ruined city', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Petra</a>; and every night of every day
                it is an emptiness. This building too, which of week-days hums with industry
                and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer vacancy, and all through Sunday
                is forlorn. And here Bartleby makes his home; sole spectator of a solitude
                which he has seen all populous--a sort of innocent and transformed <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('Marius was a Roman general who was exiled from Rome, captured by enemies, and escaped to Africa, sending back a message to Rome that he was sitting &quot;amid the ruins of Carthage,&quot; presumably feeling very much like a ruin himself.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Marius 
          brooding among the ruins of Carthage!</a> 
        </p>
        <p>For the <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('The lawyer is changing, having feelingsof melancholy (about the human condition?) he never admitted to himself before.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">first 
          time in my life</a> a feeling of overpowering stinging melancholy
            seized me. Before, I had never experienced aught but a not-unpleasing sadness.
            The bond of a common humanity now drew me irresistibly to gloom. A fraternal
            melancholy! For both I and Bartleby were <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Here he truly connects with Bartleby and so has a new perspective on himself and the connections between human beings.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">sons 
          of Adam</a>. I remembered the bright silks and sparkling faces
            I had seen that day in gala trim, swan-like sailing down the Mississippi
            of Broadway; and I contrasted them with the pallid copyist, and thought
            to myself, Ah, happiness courts the light, so we deem the world is gay;
            but misery hides aloof, so we deem that misery there is none. These sad
            fancyings-- <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('fancies, illusions', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">chimeras</a>, doubtless, of a sick and
            silly brain--led on to other and more special thoughts, concerning the
            eccentricities of Bartleby. Presentiments of strange discoveries hovered
            round me. The scrivener's pale form appeared to me <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He imagines Bartleby dead among uncaring people. What does this show about him at this point?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">laid 
          out</a>, among uncaring strangers, in its shivering winding
            sheet.</p>
        <p>Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby's closed desk, the key in open sight
            left in the lock.</p>
        <p> <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again, he is quite defensive before the reader. Isn\'t he invading Bartleby\'s territory? Or is he justified in poking around his desk? Does that explain the change that will come in Bartleby?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          mean no mischief, </a>seek the gratification of no heartless
            curiosity, thought I; besides, the desk is mine, and its contents too,
            so I will make bold to look within. Every thing was methodically arranged,
            the papers smoothly placed. The pigeon holes were deep, and removing the
            files of documents, I groped into their recesses. Presently I felt something
            there, and dragged it out. It was an old bandanna handkerchief, heavy and
            knotted. I opened it, and saw it was a savings' bank.</p>
        <p>I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I
            remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals
            he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading--no,
            not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out,
            at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite
            sure he never visited any refectory or eating house; while his pale face
            clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee
            even, like other men; that he never went any where in particular that I
            could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case
            at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came,
            or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale,
            he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain
            unconscious air of pallid--how shall I call it?--of <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He finds Bartleby proud but somehow lifeless. Has he yet realized that Bartleby may be fighting for respect?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">pallid 
          haughtiness</a>, say, or rather an austere reserve about him,
            which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities,
            when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me,
            even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that
            behind his screen he must be standing in one of those <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('This is the first time he seems to have personally confronted the &quot;view&quot; that Bartleby sees, as well as its significance. He has evidently been watching Bartleby closely in his &quot;hermitage.&quot;&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">dead-wall 
          reveries</a> of his.</p>
        <p>Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered
            fact that he made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not
            forgetful of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Remember that prudence was his leading characteristic at the beginning of the story. How is this significant at this point? What is the link between prudence and the train of emotions he is experiencing?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">prudential 
          feeling</a> began to steal over me. My first emotions had been
            those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as
            the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagination, did that same
            melancholy merge into <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('What is it that he is afraid of?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">fear</a>, that pity into repulsion. So
            true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point the thought
            or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special
            cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably
            this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather
            proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic
            ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it
            is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense
            bids the soul be rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the
            scrivener was the victim <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He sees him as hopelessly sick. Does this then relieve him of any responsibility for Bartleby\'s well-being? Or does it distance him from Bartleby, so he doesn\'t have to have those uncomfortable feelings? What alternatives would an employer have in such a situation? What would you expect him to do? Why?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">of 
          innate and incurable disorder.</a> I might give alms to his body;
            but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('This is a touching sentence, and probably an accurate observation of Bartleby\'s state. What is interesting is that the lawyer wishes, even desperately, to somehow touch his soul. Is it because his own soul is tied up in Bartleby\'s condition at this point?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">his 
          soul I could not reach.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>I did not accomplish the purpose of going to Trinity Church that morning.
            Somehow, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('A curious statement. Does he feel soiled in some way? Or does he not feel that Trinity Church will help him with his moral dilemma?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          things I had seen disqualified me</a> for the time from church-going.
            I walked homeward, thinking what I would do with Bartleby. Finally, I
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He\'s quite happy that he\'s found a &quot;reasonable&quot; yet compassionate solution to this problem--fire him with severance pay and a promise of a recommendation. Yet he has just concluded that Bartleby\'s problems are not of the body but the soul. Why would he think this could possibly work?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">resolved</a>upon this;--I would put certain calm questions to him the
                next morning, touching his history, &amp;c., and if he declined to answer
                then openly and reservedly (and I supposed he would prefer not), then to
                give him a twenty dollar bill over and above whatever I might owe him,
                and tell him his services were no longer required; but that if in any other
                way I could assist him, I would be happy to do so, especially if he desired
                to return to his native place, wherever that might be, I would willingly
                help to defray the expenses. Moreover, if after reaching home, he found
                himself at any time in want of aid, a letter from him would be sure of
                a reply.</p>
        <p>The next morning came.</p>
        <p>"Bartleby," said I, gently calling to him behind the screen.</p>
        <p>No reply.</p>
        <p>"Bartleby," said I, in a still gentler tone, "come here; I am not going
            to ask you to do any thing you would prefer not to do--I simply wish to
            speak to you."</p>
        <p>Upon this he noiselessly slid into view.</p>
        <p>"Will you tell me, Bartleby, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib(' Is this any business of his? He seems to be trying to establish a personal connection with Bartleby, rather than the business one alone.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">where 
          you were born?"</a> 
        </p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to."</p>
        <p>"Will you tell me <i>anything </i>about yourself?"</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to."</p>
        <p>"But what <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again, there\'s emphasis on &quot;reason.&quot; Yet people--even the lawyer--often behave from unreasonable motivation (see his prudence and his consciousness of appearances, for example).', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">reasonable 
          objection</a> can you have to speak to me? I feel friendly towards
            you."</p>
        <p>He did not look at me while I spoke, but kept his glance fixed upon my
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Earlier he thought Bartleby resembled a bust of Cicero, a Roman philosopher. Why does he note this here? A reader may be reminded of Poe, especially his poem &quot;The Raven&quot; where the raven perches on a bust of Pallas, the Greek goddess of wisdom, saying repeatedly &quot;Nevermore.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">bust of Cicero</a>, which as I then sat, was directly behind me, some
                six inches above my head. "What is your answer, Bartleby?" said I, after
                waiting a considerable time for a reply, during which his countenance remained
                immovable, only there was the <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Bartleby\'s first expression of emotion. What do you think has caused this?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">faintest 
          conceivable tremor</a> of the white attenuated mouth.</p>
        <p>"At present I prefer to give no answer," he said, and retired into his
            hermitage.</p>
        <p>It was rather weak in me I confess, but his manner on this occasion nettled
            me. Not only did there seem to lurk in it a certain disdain, but <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Again, he demands that Bartleby assume the proper &quot;employee demeanor&quot; and be grateful for his good treatment. In other words, he should be properly subservient and recognize what a good person his employer is. This is not disinterested moral behavior!', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">his 
          perverseness seemed ungrateful</a>, considering the undeniable
            good usage and indulgence he had received from me.</p>
        <p>Again I sat ruminating what I should do.<a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Very upset (but note that he uses a word with the Latin word for &quot;death&quot; in it)', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Mortified</a> as I was at his behavior,
            and resolved as I had been to dismiss him when I entered my office, nevertheless
            I strangely felt something superstitious knocking at my heart, and forbidding
            me to carry out my purpose, and denouncing me for a villain if I dared
            to breathe one bitter word against this forlornest of mankind. At last,
            familiarly drawing my chair behind his screen, I sat down and said: "Bartleby,
            never mind then about revealing your history; but let me entreat you,
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Is he really his friend? Or is he just desperate?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">as a friend</a>, to comply as far as may be with the usages of this office.
                Say now you will help to examine papers tomorrow or next day: in short,
                say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little reasonable:--say
                so, Bartleby."</p>
        <p>"At present I would prefer not to be a little <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Note the repetition and linking of these words.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">reasonable 
          was his idly cadaverous reply.</a>,"</p>
        <p>Just then the folding-doors opened, and Nippers approached. He seemed
            suffering from an unusually bad night's rest, induced by severer indigestion
            than common. He overheard those final words of Bartleby.</p>
        <p><i>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Here\'s an outbreak of &quot;prefer,&quot; consciously from Nippers and less consciously from the lawyer. The contagion is spreading, and the concept of &quot;preferences&quot; mattering has sunk in.', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Prefer</a></i> not,
            eh?" gritted Nippers--"I'd<i> prefer</i> him, if I were you, sir," addressing
            me--"I'd <i>prefer</i> him; I'd give him preferences, the stubborn mule!
            What is it, sir, pray, that he <i>prefers</i> not to do now?"</p>
        <p>Bartleby moved not a limb.</p>
        <p><a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This is the first time that the lawyer uses Bartleby&quot;s phrase in the story.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">"Mr. 
          Nippers," said I, "I'd prefer that you would withdraw for the present."</a> 
        </p>
        <p>Somehow, of late I had got into the way of involuntary using this word
            "prefer" upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. And I trembled
            to think that my contact with the scrivener had already and seriously affected
            me in a mental way. And what further and deeper <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('e seems worried that he may be losing his sanity. Is he? Just because he assumes that it is all right to &quot;prefer not&quot; to do something?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">aberration</a> might it not yet produce?
            This apprehension had not been without <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('effectiveness. Why is this sentence so complicated? Is he trying to avoid saying exactly what he means?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">efficacy</a> in determining me to summary
            means.</p>
        <p>As Nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, Turkey blandly
            and deferentially approached.</p>
        <p>"With submission, sir," said he, "yesterday I was thinking about Bartleby
            here, and I think that if he would but prefer to take a quart of good ale
            every day, it would do much towards mending him, and enabling him to assist
            in examining his papers."</p>
        <p>"So you have got the word too," said I, slightly excited.</p>
        <p>"With submission, what word, sir," asked Turkey, respectfully crowding
            himself into the contracted space behind the screen, and by so doing, making
            me <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He has crossed Bartleby\'s boundaries again.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">jostle 
          the scrivener.</a> "What word, sir?"</p>
        <p>"I would prefer to be left alone here," said Bartleby, as if offended
            at being <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('In a sense, Bartleby is being ridiculed. Turkey doesn\'t seem to have any idea that he has adopted the word--or the concept of preferring.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">mobbed 
          in his privacy.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>"<i>That's</i> the word, Turkey," said I--<i>"that's</i> it."</p>
        <p>"Oh,<i> prefer</i> oh yes--queer word. I never use it myself. But, sir
            as I was saying, if he would but prefer--"</p>
        <p>"Turkey," interrupted I, "you will please withdraw."</p>
        <p>"Oh, certainly, sir, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('You should be at least smiling at this point! Yet this is quite serious; even the obsequious Turkey has been infected.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">if 
          you prefer that I should</a>."</p>
        <p>As he opened the folding-door to retire, Nippers at his desk caught a
            glimpse of me, and asked whether I would prefer to have a certain paper
            copied on blue paper or white. He did not in the least roguishly accent
            the word prefer. It was plain that it involuntarily rolled from his tongue.
            I thought to myself, surely I must get rid of a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib(' By this definition, is Bartleby &quot;demented&quot;? Just because others start picking up his phrase? (Then we are all in trouble!) But this is a man who loves order and hierarchy; all of a sudden, his employees are getting quite &quot;uppity&quot; and hard to control.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">demented</a> man, who already has in some
            degree turned the tongues, if not the heads of myself and clerks. But I
            thought it <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib(' Why wouldn\'t it be &quot;prudent&quot;? Is he not admitting his need to delay?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">prudent</a> not to break the dismission
            at once.</p>
        <p>The next day I noticed that <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Obviously the intrusive encounter of the previous day has turned Bartleby\'s polite defiance into a fatal direction. Do you think he would have continued to work as before had the lawyer not confronted him?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Bartleby 
          did nothing </a>but stand at his window in his dead-wall revery.
            Upon asking him why he did not write, he said that he had decided upon
            doing no more writing.</p>
        <p>"Why, how now? what next?" exclaimed I, "do no more writing?"</p>
        <p>"No more."</p>
        <p>"And what is the reason?"</p>
        <p>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('What should he be seeing? That Bartleby is staring at the dead wall? Or what that might mean?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Do 
          you not see the reason</a> for yourself," he indifferently replied.</p>
        <p>I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull and
            glazed. Instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence in copying
            by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with me might have
            temporarily <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He immediately assumes that the problem is a physical one. Evidently his understanding of &quot;seeing&quot; is quite different from Bartleby\'s. Note that Bartleby is now the one talking about &quot;reason.&quot; Why does he say it &quot;indifferently&quot;? Does he know the answer?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">impaired 
          his vision</a>.</p>
        <p>I was touched. I said something in condolence with him. I hinted that
            of course he did wisely in abstaining from writing for a while; and urged
            him to embrace that opportunity of taking wholesome exercise in the open
            air. This, however, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He seems to prefer not to leave the office. Surely the lawyer realizes that suggesting exercise is futile; again, he wishes to speak to the body, not the soul.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">he 
          did not do</a>. A few days after this, my other clerks being
            absent, and being in a great hurry to dispatch certain letters by the mail,
            I thought that, having nothing else earthly to do, Bartleby would surely
            be less inflexible than usual, and carry these letters <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('again, he wants to send him here. He seems desperate to get Bartleby out of the office, but Bartleby refuses to go anywhere.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">to 
          the post-office</a>. But he blankly declined. So, much to my
            inconvenience, I went myself.</p>
        <p>Still <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('His reluctance to act is even more pronounced; he wants to believe everything will be all right if he gives it some time. Maybe his eyes will improve!', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">added 
          days went by.</a> Whether Bartleby's eyes improved or not, I
            could not say. To all appearance, I thought they did. But when I asked
            him if they did, he vouchsafed no answer. At all events, he would do no
            copying. At last, in reply to my urgings, he informed me that he had permanently
            given up copying.</p>
        <p>"What!" exclaimed I; "suppose your eyes should get entirely well- better
            than ever before--would you not copy then?"</p>
        <p>"I have given up copying," he answered, and <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('No direct confrontation here! This action seems to reflect the willingness of the lawyer to &quot;let things slide&quot; also.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">slid 
          aside.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>He remained as ever, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('His physical immobility is emphasized, and it will remain his major characteristic. Have you seen hints of immobility leading up to this point? Does the lawyer share that tendency?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a 
          fixture</a> in my chamber. Nay--if that were possible--he became
            still more of a fixture than before. What was to be done? He would do nothing
            in the office: why should he stay there? In plain fact, he had now become
            a millstone to me, not only useless as a necklace, but afflictive to bear.
            Yet I was sorry for him. I speak less than truth when I say that, on his
            own account, he occasioned me uneasiness. If he would but have named a
            single relative or friend, I would instantly have written, and urged their
            taking the poor fellow away to some convenient retreat. But he seemed alone,
            absolutely alone in the universe. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again the image of ruin and utter loneliness. Yet Bartleby is in a busy office, separated only by a green &quot;wall&quot; of a screen. The narrator seems to be overdramatizing; why might that be?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">A 
          bit of wreck&lt;</a>/font&gt; in the mid Atlantic. At length,
            necessities connected with my business tyrannized over all other considerations.
            Decently as I could, I told Bartleby that in six days' time he must unconditionally
            leave the office. I warned him to take measures, in the interval, for procuring
            some other abode. I offered to assist him in this endeavor, if he himself
            would but take the first step towards a removal. "And when you finally
            quit me, Bartleby," added I, "I shall see that you go not away entirely
            unprovided. Six days from this hour, remember."</p>
        <p>At the expiration of that period, I peeped behind the screen, and <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Of course he was! What would make him expect anything else?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">lo! 
          Bartleby was there.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>I <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('and his courage! This is not easy for him.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">buttoned 
          up my coat</a>, balanced myself; advanced slowly towards him,
            touched his shoulder, and said, "The time has come; you must quit this
            place; I am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go."</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not," he replied, with his back still towards me.</p>
        <p>"You<i> must</i>."</p>
        <p>He remained silent.</p>
        <p>Now I had an unbounded confidence in this man's common honesty. He had
            frequently restored to me six pences and shillings carelessly dropped upon
            the floor, for I am apt to be very reckless in such <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Though money means little to him, so little that he throws it around, it must seem quite different for his impoverished clerks. He seems rather insensitive in this case.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">shirt-button 
          affairs</a>. The proceeding then which followed will not be
            deemed extraordinary. "<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This sounds like a speech he has practiced for some time. In fact, he seems rather proud that he has wrapped up the situation, and Bartleby, paid him off and kept his conscience clean.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Bartleby," 
          said I, "I owe you twelve dollars on account; here are thirty-two; the 
          odd twenty are yours.--Will you take it?</a> and I handed the
            bills towards him.</p>
        <p>But he made no motion.</p>
        <p>"I will leave them here then," putting them under a weight on the table.
            Then taking my hat and cane and going to the door I tranquilly turned and
            added--"After you have removed your things from these offices, Bartleby,
            you will of course lock the door--since every one is now gone for the day
            but you--and if you please, slip your key underneath the mat, so that I
            may have it in the morning. I shall not see you again; so good-bye to you.
            If hereafter in your new place of abode I can be of any service to you,
            do not fail to advise me by letter. Good-bye, Bartleby, and fare you well."</p>
        <p>But he answered not a word; like <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Again, the image of ruin, immobility, and solitude. This is further emphasized by the rest of the sentence.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          last column of some ruined temple</a>, he remained standing
            mute and solitary in the middle of the otherwise deserted room.</p>
        <p>As I walked home in a pensive mood, my <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('These two emotions have been very prominent in his relation with Bartleby. He is extremely proud of what he has done. &quot;Masterly&quot; seems very significant, as he feels he has established his rightful authority over Bartleby and mollified his conscience with the money.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">vanity 
          got the better of my pity</a>. I could not but highly plume
            myself on my masterly management in getting rid of Bartleby. Masterly I
            call it, and such it must appear to any dispassionate thinker. The beauty
            of my procedure seemed to consist in its perfect quietness. There was
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This detailed list of what he did NOT do suggests that he had considered each of these actions thoroughly, but each would have been emotional and &quot;disorderly.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">no vulgar bullying</a>, no bravado of any sort, no choleric hectoring
                and striding to and fro across the apartment, jerking out vehement commands
                for Bartleby to bundle himself off with his beggarly traps. Nothing of
                the kind. Without loudly bidding Bartleby depart--as <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('Wow, he IS proud of himself. Such pride &quot;goeth before a fall.&quot;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">an 
          inferior genius</a> might have done--I assumed the ground that
                depart he must; and upon the assumption built all I had to say. The more
                I thought over my procedure, the more I was charmed with it. Nevertheless,
                next morning, upon awakening, I had my doubts,--I had somehow slept off
                the fumes of vanity. One of the coolest and wisest hours a man has, is
                just after he awakes in the morning. My procedure seemed as sagacious as
                ever,--but only in theory. How it would prove in practice--there was the
                rub. It was truly a beautiful thought to have assumed Bartleby's departure;
                but, after all, that assumption was simply my own, and none of Bartleby's.
                The great point was, not whether I had assumed that he would quit me, but
                whether he would prefer so to do. He was more a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('Bartleby prefers; the lawyer assumes! Clearly the question here is which has the most power, and deep down, the lawyer knows that Bartleby is the stronger.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">man 
          of preferences than assumptions</a>.</p>
        <p>After breakfast, I walked down town, arguing the probabilities pro and
            con. One moment I thought it would prove a miserable failure, and Bartleby
            would be found all alive at my office as usual; the next moment it seemed
            certain that I should see his chair empty. And so I kept veering about.
            At the corner of Broadway and Canal- street, I saw quite an excited group
            of people standing in earnest conversation.</p>
        <p>"I'll take odds he doesn't," said a voice as I passed.</p>
        <p>"Doesn't go?--done!" said I, "put up your money."</p>
        <p>I was instinctively putting my hand in my pocket to produce my own, when
            I remembered that this was an election day. The words I had overheard bore
            no reference to Bartleby, but to the success or non-success of some candidate
            for the mayoralty. In my intent frame of mind, I had, as it were, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('His obsession with Bartleby has led him to assume it is shared by everyone.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">imagined 
          that all Broadway shared in my excitement</a>, and were debating
            the same question with me. I passed on, very thankful that the uproar of
            the street screened my momentary absent-mindedness.</p>
        <p>As I had intended, I was earlier than usual at my office door. I stood
            listening for a moment. All was still. He must be gone. I tried the knob.
            The door was locked. Yes, my procedure had worked to a charm; he indeed
            must be vanished. Yet a certain melancholy mixed with this: I was <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Again, he is experiencing conflicting emotions. He wants Bartleby to leave but he has also bonded with him without meaning to.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">almost 
          sorry for my brilliant success</a>. I was fumbling under the
            door mat for the key, which Bartleby was to have left there for me, when
            accidentally my knee knocked against a panel, producing a summoning sound,
            and in response a voice came to me from within--"Not yet; I am occupied."</p>
        <p>It was Bartleby.</p>
        <p>I was thunderstruck. For an instant I stood <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('This happened at Berkeley plantation to the young statesman, Benjamin Harrison. He was holding a child and another was hanging on to his leg as he lowered a window; all were killed by the lightning. Perhaps Melville knew this story.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">like 
          the man who, pipe in mouth, was killed</a> one cloudless afternoon
            long ago in Virginia, by summer lightning; at his own warm open window
            he was killed, and remained leaning out there upon the dreamy afternoon,
            till some one touched him, when he fell. "Not gone!" I murmured at last.
            But again obeying that <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Here he is acknowledging Bartleby\'s strange power over him. He can no longer avoid the issue and talk his way out of it.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">wondrous 
          ascendancy</a> which the inscrutable scrivener had over me, and
            from which ascendancy, for all my chafing, I could not completely escape,
            I slowly went down stairs and out into the street, and while walking round
            the block, considered what I should next do in this unheard-of-perplexity.
            Turn the man out by an actual thrusting I could not; to drive him away
            by calling him hard names would not do; calling in the police was an unpleasant
            idea; and yet, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Here it becomes quite clear that this has been a power struggle, and that Bartleby in some way is winning. Yet he is &quot;cadaverous,&quot; deathlike. Does he represent a death-in-life? Is this what terrifies the lawyer?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">permit 
          him</a> to enjoy his cadaverous triumph over me,--this too I
            could not think of. What was to be done? or, if nothing could be done,
            was there any thing further that I could <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('The idea of making assumptions about Bartleby has become very important. He cannot assume that he understands Bartleby\'s behavior, and can thus change it, because that behavior is not usual and &quot;rational.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">assume</a> in the matter? Yes, as before
            I had prospectively assumed that Bartleby would depart, so now I might
            retrospectively assume that departed he was. In the legitimate carrying
            out of this assumption, I might enter my office in a great hurry, and pretending
            not to see Bartleby at all, walk straight against him as if he were air.
            Such a proceeding would in a singular degree have the appearance of a
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This is the second time this word has been used in the paragraph. Some readers see sexual undertones in this struggle between the two. Or it could be military imagery again (the thrust of the sword?)&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">home-thrust</a>. It was hardly possible that Bartleby could withstand
                such an application of the doctrine of assumptions. But upon second thoughts
                the success of the plan seemed rather dubious. I resolved to argue the
                matter over with him again.</p>
        <p>Bartleby," said I, entering the office, with a quietly severe expression.
            "I am seriously displeased. I am pained, Bartleby. I had thought better
            of you. I had imagined you of such a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Bartleby is far beyond responding to insults, even gentle ones like this. He cannot be humiliated; his determined self-respect is too strong for that.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">gentlemanly 
          organization</a>, that in any delicate dilemma a slight hint
            would suffice--in short, an assumption. But it appears I am deceived. Why,"
            I added, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('His shock at seeing the money lying there shows that he just now realizes that he cannot buy Bartleby off.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">unaffectedly 
          starting</a>, "you have not even touched the money yet," pointing
            to it, just where I had left it the evening previous.</p>
        <p>He answered nothing.</p>
        <p>"Will you, or will you not, quit me?" I now demanded in a <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('His strong feelings are now exposed, and he invades Bartleby\'s territory again.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">sudden 
          passion</a>, advancing close to him.</p>
        <p>"I would prefer <i>not</i> to quit you," he replied, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Notice the contrasting emotion here. In fact, the word &quot;gentle&quot; has been applied to him several times already. He is no raving maniac!', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">gently 
          emphasizing</a> the<i> not</i>.</p>
        <p>"What <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('In a society based on the power of private property, he is correct. But does it not imply that there may be other, even higher rights?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">earthly 
          right</a> have you to stay here? do you pay any rent? Do you
            pay my taxes? Or is this property yours?"</p>
        <p>He answered nothing.</p>
        <p>"Are you ready to go on and write now? Are your eyes recovered? Could
            you copy a small paper for me this morning? or help examine a few lines?
            or step round to the post-office? In a word, will you do any thing at all,
            to give a coloring to your refusal to depart the premises?"</p>
        <p>He <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Bartleby has no answer to these questions because he does not recognize their validity. Note that hermitage is used again.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">silently 
          retired into his hermitage</a>.</p>
        <p>I was now in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why is this prudent? Isn\'t this a rather mild word considering the force of his anger? Evidently he does not trust himself at this point to be &quot;reasonable.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">prudent</a>to check myself at present from further demonstrations. Bartleby
                and I were alone. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('The printer Samuel Adams was ax murdered by John C. Colt in 1841 when Adams tried to collect a debt. Colt apparently crated Adams\'s body to ship to New Orleans. Shortly before he was scheduled to hang, he married his mistress in his jail cell and was found stabbed to death soon afterward. Colt would seem to have led a far more interesting life than the lawyer!', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          remembered</a> the tragedy of the unfortunate Adams and the still
                more unfortunate Colt in the solitary office of the latter; and how poor
                Colt, being dreadfully incensed by Adams, and imprudently permitting himself
                to get wildly excited, was at unawares hurried into his <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('He probably fears that he would be tempted to do the same rash act.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">fatal 
          act</a>--an act which certainly <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('This is his assumption; there\'s no particular evidence that it was true for Colt (as it would have been true for the lawyer had he done something similar).', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">no 
          man could possibly deplore</a> more than the actor himself. Often
                it had occurred to me in my <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why would he have spent so much time thinking about this case?', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">ponderings</a> upon the subject, that had
                that altercation taken place in the public street, or at a private residence,
                it would not have terminated as it did. It was the circumstance of being
                alone in a solitary office, up stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed
                by humanizing domestic associations--an <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Undoubtedly he sees parallels here. He seems to be learning how to imagine a situation of someone quite different from himself very vividly.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">uncarpeted 
          office</a>, doubtless of a dusty, haggard sort of appearance;--this
                it must have been, which greatly helped to enhance the irritable desperation
                of the hapless Colt.</p>
        <p>But when this <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Perhaps he is speaking of original sin, finding in himself a urge to murder. However, it was Adam\'s son, Cain, who resented and then murdered his brother.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">old 
          Adam of resentment</a> rose in me and tempted me concerning Bartleby,
            I grappled him and threw him. How? Why, simply by recalling the <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('This Christian injunction conflicts with the principles of private property, ownership, and power he has been operating from previously. He is reminded that he is Bartleby\'s brother, in a sense, not a vengeful god', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">divine 
          injunction</a>: "A new commandment give I unto you, that ye
            love one another." Yes, this it was that saved me. Aside from higher considerations,
            charity often operates as <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He misses the point. The &quot;injunction&quot; says one should love one another (as brothers), not with the promise that it will be advantageous and prudent to do so. Is it love for Bartleby that motivates him or fear that he might be &quot;imprudent&quot; enough to murder him?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a 
          vastly wise and prudent</a> principle--a great safeguard to its
            possessor. Men have committed murder for jealousy's sake, and anger's sake,
            and hatred's sake, and selfishness' sake, and spiritual pride's sake; but
            no man that ever I heard of, ever <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('which he seems to feel he is on the ver', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">committed 
          a diabolical murder</a> for sweet charity's sake. <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('That was not what Jesus had in mind! If Bartleby has been &quot;sent&quot; to teach him the lesson of brotherhood, the lawyer hasn\'t yet fully comprehended it, and is still deeply concerned with his own welfare. Is this true charity, to do something for &quot;mere self interest&quot;? Is that the kind of charity you would like to be the beneficiary of?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Mere 
          self-interest</a>, then, if no better motive can be enlisted,
            should, especially with high-tempered men, prompt all beings to charity
            and philanthropy. At any rate, upon the occasion in question, I strove
            to <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He may say that Bartleby is a &quot;poor fellow,&quot; but at this point he is primarily interested in calming himself down so that he won\'t murder him.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">drown 
          my exasperated feelings</a> towards the scrivener by benevolently
            construing his conduct. Poor fellow, poor fellow! thought I, he don't mean
            any thing; and besides, he has seen hard times, and ought to be indulged.</p>
        <p>I endeavored also immediately to occupy myself, and at the same time
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is very deeply affected by what has happened, but again he tries to ignore it, and wallow in wishful fantasy.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">to comfort my despondency.</a>I tried to fancy that in the course of the
                morning, at such time as might prove agreeable to him, Bartleby, of his
                own free accord, would emerge from his hermitage, and take up some decided
                line of march in the direction of the door. But no. Half-past twelve o'clock
                came; Turkey began to glow in the face, overturn his inkstand, and become
                generally obstreperous; Nippers abated down into quietude and courtesy;
                Ginger Nut munched his noon apple; and Bartleby remained standing at his
                window in one of his profoundest <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('These two words are completely linked by this point. Bartleby is facing a real wall; the lawyer is facing the equally immovable wall that Bartleby presents him.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">deadwall</a> reveries. <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('This is a strange phrase, one which has financial tones. Does he mean that he might be credited with his good behavior (for not killing Bartleby\ either on earth, by his employees and others recognizing his great restraint?', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Will 
          it be credited?</a> Ought I to acknowledge it? That afternoon
                I left the office without saying one further word to him.</p>
        <p>Some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals I looked a little
            into <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Neither Jonathan Edwards, a Puritan minister, or Joseph Priestley, an English scientist, believed that man has totally free will. Perhaps the lawyer would like to believe that none of this is his fault, and that it was fated to happen. This way he would have to take no responsibility for what has happened and will happen.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Edwards 
          on the Will,</a>" and "Priestly on Necessity." Under the circumstances,
            those books induced a salutary feeling. Gradually I <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('now look who\'s sliding! He doesn\'t exactly choose to believe this, but it certainly does work for him to appease his conscience.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">slid 
          into the persuasion</a> that these troubles of mine touching
            the scrivener, had been all <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('By whom? God? fate? natural law? That does get him off the hook though.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">predestinated 
          from eternity</a>, and Bartleby was <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('sent to live with, as soldiers may be billeted with citizens. Again, he uses military imagery. As you think about why, consider that the military is highly hierarchical, with superiors giving orders to inferiors which are supposed to be accepted without question.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">billeted</a> upon me for some mysterious
            purpose of an all-wise Providence, which it was not for a mere mortal like
            me to fathom. Yes, Bartleby, stay there behind your screen, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('However, he does not say this.', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();"
            class="popup">thought 
          I</a>; I shall persecute you no more; you are harmless and noiseless
            as any of these old chairs; in short, I never feel so private as when I
            know you are here. At least I see it, I feel it; I penetrate to the predestinated
            purpose of my life. I am content. Others may have loftier parts to enact;
            but <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He\'s being very philosophical, resigning himself to the will of fate or Providence. Of course, he may also be being ironic, even laughing at himself.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">my 
          mission</a> in this world, Bartleby, is to furnish you with office-room
            for such period as you may see fit to remain.</p>
        <p>I believe that this wise and blessed frame of mind would have continued
            with me, had it not been for the unsolicited and uncharitable remarks obtruded
            upon me by <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('The lawyer is very aware of the opinions of others (recall his feelings about how his clerks dressed). Since his benevolence is primarily based on self-interest, it seems logical that it will also be challenged by other self-interests.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">my 
          professional friends</a> who visited the rooms. But thus it often
            is, that the constant friction of illiberal minds wears out at last the
            best resolves of the more <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Is he generous? Or avoiding the issue--again?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">generous</a>. Though to be sure, when
            I reflected upon it, it was not strange that people entering my office
            should be struck by the peculiar aspect of the unaccountable Bartleby,
            and so be tempted to throw out some sinister observations concerning him.
            Sometimes an attorney having business with me, and calling at my office,
            and finding no one but the scrivener there, would undertake to obtain some
            sort of precise information from him touching my whereabouts; but without
            heeding his <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('&quot;Idle&quot; is very much like &quot;trivial,&quot; the sort of business Bartleby will have nothing to do with.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">idle 
          talk,</a> Bartleby would remain standing immovable in the middle
            of the room. So after contemplating him in that position for a time, the
            attorney would depart, no wiser than he came.</p>
        <p>Also, when a Reference was going on, and the room full of lawyers and
            witnesses and business was driving fast; some deeply occupied legal gentleman
            present, seeing Bartleby wholly unemployed, would request him to run round
            to his (the legal gentleman's) office and fetch some papers for him. Thereupon,
            Bartleby would tranquilly decline, and remain idle as before. Then the
            lawyer would give a great stare, and turn to me. And what could I say?
            At last I was made aware that all through the circle of my professional
            acquaintance, a whisper of wonder was running round, having reference to
            the strange creature I kept at my office. This <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('as it would any prudent man anxious to keep up good appearances.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">worried 
          me very much</a>. And as the idea came upon me of his possibly
            turning out a long-lived man, and keep occupying my chambers, and <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Is this the crux of the problem', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();"
            class="popup">denying 
          my authority</a>; and perplexing my visitors; and scandalizing
            my professional reputation; and casting a general gloom over the premises;
            keeping soul and body together to the last upon his savings (for doubtless
            he spent but half a dime a day), and in the end perhaps <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Why would he fancy that Bartleby would outlive him and &quot;claim possession&quot;? Notice that he is worried that Bartleby would continue to live. Is he thus wishing his death as a way of solving his problem?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">outlive 
          me</a>, and claim possession of my office by right of his perpetual
            occupancy: as all these dark anticipations crowded upon me more and more,
            and my friends continually intruded their relentless remarks upon the apparition
            in my room; a great change was wrought in me. I resolved to gather all
            my faculties together, and for ever rid me of this <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('an evil spirit or person who oppresses like a nightmare. Clearly he\'s not feeling Christian brotherhood at this point, for he has demonized him.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">intolerable 
          incubus</a>.</p>
        <p>Ere revolving any complicated project, however, adapted to this end, I
            first simply suggested to Bartleby the <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is definitely a man who believes in propriety above all; Bartleby is not.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">propriety</a> of his permanent departure.
            In a calm and serious tone, I commended the idea to his careful and mature
            consideration. But having taken three days to meditate upon it, he apprised
            me that his original determination remained the same; in short, that he
            still preferred to <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Note the Biblical language here. Is that significant?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">abide 
          with me</a>.</p>
        <p>What shall I do? I now said to myself, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This seems to be his way of summoning courage to confront Bartleby! In a way, he is hiding behind his coat (a kind of wall?)', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">buttoning 
          up my coat</a> to the last button. What shall I do? what ought
            I to do? what does conscience say I should do with this man, or rather
            ghost. Rid myself of him, I must; go, he shall. But how? You will not thrust
            him, the poor, pale, passive mortal,--you will not thrust such a helpless
            creature out of your door? you will not <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('His primary concern here seems to be dishonor to himself, not true conscience about the moral way to act. Again, he is most concerned about how others will judge him.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">dishonor 
          yourself</a> by such cruelty? No, I will not, I cannot do that.
            Rather would I let him live and die here, and then <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Melville probably knew Poe\'s story &quot;The Cask of Amontillado&quot; in which the main character does exactly this--but before his &quot;enemy&quot; is dead. This image of &quot;living&quot; or &quot;premature death&quot; in Poe\'s story is rather appropriate for this one also. The lawyer still seems to be contemplating murder, in a way.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">mason 
          up his remains</a> in the wall. What then will you do? For all
            your coaxing, he will not budge. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('At least he acknowledges that\'s what he\'s trying to do! Yet he also reluctantly admires Bartleby for his resisting temptation and sticking to his &quot;preferences.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Bribes</a> he leaves under your own paperweight
            on your table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers<a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Bartleby isn\'t exactly &quot;clinging,&quot; so why does the lawyer say this? This may represent more the psychological burden that he feels!&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup"> 
          to cling to you</a>.</p>
        <p>Then something severe, something unusual must be done. What! surely you
            will not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent pallor
            to the common jail? And upon what ground could you procure such a thing
            to be done?--a vagrant, is he? <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('His inner struggle goes on, as he considers possible legal, but inhumane, ways of solving the problem. It\'s true: he\'s not a vagrant! His answer is a legal one, based on the idea of trespassing on private property, which is the only legal answer.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">What!</a> he a vagrant, a wanderer, who
            refuses to budge? It is because he will not be a vagrant, then, that you
            seek to count him as a vagrant. That is too absurd. No visible means of
            support: there I have him. Wrong again: for indubitably he does support
            himself, and that is the only unanswerable proof that any man can show
            of his possessing the means so to do. No more then. Since he will not quit
            me, I must quit him. I will change my offices; I will move elsewhere; and
            give him fair notice, that if I find him on my new premises I will then
            proceed against him as a common trespasser.</p>
        <p>Acting accordingly, next day I thus addressed him: "I find these chambers
            too far from the City Hall; the air is unwholesome. In a word, I propose
            to remove my offices next week, and shall no longer require your services.
            I tell you this now, in order that you may seek another place."</p>
        <p>He made no reply, and nothing more was said.</p>
        <p>On the appointed day I engaged carts and men, proceeded to my chambers,
            and having but little furniture, every thing was removed in a few hours.
            Throughout, the scrivener remained standing behind <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Again we are reminded of this wall in the office. Why does he leave it for the end?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          screen,</a> which I directed to be removed the last thing. It
            was withdrawn; and being folded up like a huge folio, left him the <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Only at this point is the wall taken down, both in the room and to some degree, in the lawyer. Again, note the conjunction of immobility and aloneness.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">motionless 
          occupant of a naked room.</a> I stood in the entry watching him
            a moment, while something from within me upbraided me.</p>
        <p>I re-entered, with my <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('A symbolic connection of money and his strong emotion.Why is his heart in his mouth? Is that because his smooth talking has not worked?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">hand 
          in my pocket--and--and my heart in my mouth.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>"Good-bye, Bartleby; I am going--good-bye, and God some way bless you;
            and take that," slipping something in his hand. But it dropped to the floor,
            and then,<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why is it &quot;strange to say&quot;? What is this strong bond between them? Here we see his great conflict in feelings toward Bartleby.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">--strange 
          to say</a>--I tore myself from him whom I had so longed to be
            rid of.</p>
        <p>Established in my new quarters, for a day or two I kept the door locked,
            and started at every footfall in the passages. When I returned to my rooms
            after any little absence, I would pause at the threshold for an instant,
            and attentively listen, ere applying my key. But these fears were needless.
            Bartleby never came nigh me.</p>
        <p>I thought all was going well, when a perturbed looking stranger visited
            me, inquiring whether I was the person who had recently occupied rooms
            at No.--Wall-street.</p>
        <p>Full of forebodings, I replied that I was.</p>
        <p>"Then, sir," said the <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Certainly he is taking the legalistic stance, insisting that legally the lawyer is responsible for his employee. This is the other side of the hierarchical equation; the master has some obligation to care for his servant. Note that the man uses the word &quot;refuses&quot; three times. That is much stronger than anything we have heard thus far about Bartleby\'s adamant stance.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">stranger, 
          who proved a lawyer</a>, "you are responsible for the man you
            left there. He refuses to do any copying; he refuses to do any thing; he
            says he prefers not to; and he refuses to quit the premises."</p>
        <p>"I am very sorry, sir," said I, with assumed tranquillity, but an inward
            tremor, "but, really, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Is this true? Does he feel no responsibility for Bartleby? Even though technically he has none, is that how he feels? His statement here is said to echo Saint Peter\'s denial of Christ in Mark 14:68, 70-71).', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          man you allude to is nothing to me</a> --he is no relation or
            apprentice of mine, that you should hold me responsible for him."</p>
        <p>"In mercy's name, who is he?"</p>
        <p>"I certainly cannot inform you. I know nothing about him. Formerly I employed
            him as a copyist; but he has done nothing for me now for some time past."</p>
        <p>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('An ironic phrase, considering that Bartleby is nothing if not thoroughly settled.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          shall settle him</a> then,--good morning, sir."</p>
        <p>Several days passed, and I heard nothing more; and though I often felt
            a charitable prompting to call at the place and see poor Bartleby, yet
            a certain <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('For whatever reason, we have seen many examples of this &quot;squeamish&quot; unwillingness to confront Bartleby.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">squeamishness</a> of I know not what withheld
            me.</p>
        <p>All is over with him, by this time, thought I at last, when through another
            week no further intelligence reached me. But coming to my room the day
            after, I found several persons waiting at my door in a high state of nervous
            excitement.</p>
        <p>"That's the man--here he comes," cried the foremost one, whom recognized
            as the lawyer who had previously called upon me alone.</p>
        <p>"You must take him away, sir, at once," cried a portly person among them,
            advancing upon me, and whom I knew to be the landlord of No.--Wall-street.
            "These gentlemen, my tenants, cannot stand it any longer; Mr. B--" pointing
            to the lawyer, "has turned him out of his room, and he now persists in
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('What else would a &quot;ghost&quot; or &quot;apparition&quot; do?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">haunting the building</a>generally, sitting upon the banisters of the
                stairs by day, and sleeping in the entry by night. Every body is concerned;
                clients are leaving the offices; <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Doesn\'t this seem a bit exaggerated? They seem to be as desperate as the lawyer was.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">some 
          fears are entertained of a mob</a>; something you must do, and
                that without delay."</p>
        <p> <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('They aren\'t the only people exaggerating! It does show how deep the narator\'s feelings are though.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Aghast 
          at this torment</a>, I fell back before it, and would fain have
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('They will not let him hide this time. Note that he wishes to hide behind the walls of his office to escape the problem.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">locked myself</a>in my new quarters. In vain I persisted that Bartleby
                was nothing to me--no more than to any one else. In vain:--I was the last
                person known to have any thing to do with him, and they held me to the
                terrible account. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('For such a prudent man, this is a major threat. Exposure, or being thrust out from behind walls (of respectability) frightens him greatly.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Fearful 
          then of being exposed</a> in the papers (as one person present
                obscurely threatened) I considered the matter, and at length said, that
                if the lawyer would give me a confidential interview with the scrivener,
                in his (the lawyer's) own room, I would that afternoon strive my best to
                rid them of the nuisance they complained of.</p>
        <p>Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting upon
            the banister at the landing.</p>
        <p>"What are you doing here, Bartleby?" said I.</p>
        <p>"Sitting upon the banister," he mildly replied.</p>
        <p>I motioned him into the lawyer's room, who then left us.</p>
        <p>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This interchange is the most extended one they have ever had. Why does Bartleby say he is not particular? Is the problem that the lawyer cannot come up with a job that would suit Bartleby? Is there such a job? Note that he gets increasingly ironic, but Bartleby remains calm and serious, and adamant as ever.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Bartleby," 
          said I</a>, "are you aware that you are the cause of great tribulation
            to me, by persisting in occupying the entry after being dismissed from
            the office?"</p>
        <p>No answer.</p>
        <p>"Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something or
            something must be done to you. Now what sort of business would you like
            to engage in? Would you like to re-engage in copying for some one?"</p>
        <p>"No; I would prefer not to make any change."</p>
        <p>"Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?"</p>
        <p>"There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a clerkship;
            but I am not particular."</p>
        <p>"Too much confinement," I cried, "why you keep yourself confined all the
            time!"</p>
        <p>"I would prefer not to take a clerkship," he rejoined, as if to settle
            that little item at once.</p>
        <p>"How would a bar-tender's business suit you? There is no trying of the
            eyesight in that."</p>
        <p>"I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not particular."</p>
        <p>His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge.</p>
        <p>"Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills
            for the merchants? That would improve your health."</p>
        <p>"No, I would prefer to be doing something else."</p>
        <p>"How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young
            gentleman with your conversation,--how would that suit you?"</p>
        <p>"Not at all. It does not strike me that there is any thing definite about
            that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.</p>
        <p>"Stationary you shall be then," I cried, now losing all patience, and
            for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly flying
            into a passion. "If you do not go away from these premises before night,
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Perhaps this may be taken two ways, since he is clearly--and unwillingly--bound to Bartleby.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I shall feel bound</a>--indeed I am bound--to-- to--to quit the premises
                myself!" I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what <a href="javascript:void(0);"
                onclick="return overlib('Again, he tries to use psychological force, wanting compliance but met but immobility.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">possible 
          threat to try to frighten</a> his immobility into compliance.
                Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when
                a final thought occurred to me--<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why then has he never mentioned it? Is this offer made out of love or out of desperation? Also, note the highly negative construction of the sentence. Perhaps he has been affected by Bartleby\'s negativism so much that it affects his language.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">one 
          which had not been wholly unindulged before.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>"Bartleby," said I, in the kindest <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This indicates that his hospitality is all a ruse, an act. Perhaps Bartleby senses that. He\'s not going to give him an easy way out which will ease his conscience.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">tone 
          I could assume</a> under such exciting circumstances, "will you
            go home with me now--not to my office, but my dwelling--and remain there
            till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure?
            Come, let us start now, right away."</p>
        <p>"No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all."</p>
        <p>I answered nothing; but effectualy dodging every one by the <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He is in motion, but escaping from his problem as hard as he can. Is that so different from Bartleby\'s immobility, which is also a kind of escape?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">suddenness 
          and rapidity of my flight,</a> rushed from the building, ran
            up Wall-street towards Broadway, and jumping into the first omnibus was
            soon removed from pursuit. As soon as tranquility returned I distinctly
            perceived that I had now done all that I possibly could, both in respect
            to the demands of the landlord and his tenants, and with regard to my own
            desire and sense of duty, to benefit Bartleby, and shield him from rude
            persecution. I now strove to be entirely care-free and quiescent; and my
            conscience justified me in the attempt; though indeed it was not so successful
            as I could have wished. So fearful was I of being again hunted out by the
            incensed landlord and his exasperated tenants, that, surrendering my business
            to Nippers, for a few days I drove about the upper part of the town and
            through the suburbs, in my rockaway; crossed over to Jersey City and Hoboken,
            and paid fugitive visits to Manhattanville and Astoria. In fact I almost
            lived in my <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('a carriage with open sides and top--not perhaps the most comfortable place to live! It is interesting that he meets Bartleby\'s &quot;stationary&quot; stance with pointless motion of his own. Also, note that he needs this because he lives in the suburbs, away from the callous materialism and injustices of the city.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">rockaway</a> for the time.</p>
        <p>When again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon
            desk. opened it with trembling hands. informed me that writer had sent
            to police, and Bartleby removed <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('The Tombs is a name for the Halls of Justice (jail). However, it also carries symbolic power here, considering the death-in-life theme.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          Tombs</a> as a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This is ironic, since the word means &quot;a wanderer,&quot; and Bartleby is anything but that (although he is homeless). Note the previous comments the lawyer made on this subject.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">vagrant</a>. Moreover, since I knew more
            about him than any one else, he wished me to appear at that place, and
            make a suitable statement of the facts. These tidings had a conflicting
            effect upon me. At first I was indignant; but at last almost approved.
            The landlord's energetic, summary disposition, had led him to adopt a procedure
            which I do not think I would have decided upon myself; and yet as a last
            resort, under such peculiar circumstances, it seemed the only plan.</p>
        <p>As I afterwards learned, the poor scrivener, when told that he must be
            conducted to the Tombs, offered not the slightest obstacle, but in his
            pale unmoving way, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Surely he preferred not to go! Why does he agree instead of resisting? Is it because it IS called the Tombs, and he knows that there (in death) he will not be disturbed? Also note the repeated use of &quot;pale&quot; throughout the story. Why is it used? One meaning of &quot;pale&quot; is &quot;an area enclosed by a fence or boundary&quot;; a &quot;vagrant&quot; would go &quot;beyond the pale.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">silently 
          acquiesced.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>Some of the compassionate and curious bystanders joined the party; and
            headed by one of the constables arm in arm with Bartleby, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Note the contrast between their (funereal?) silence and the city noises.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">the 
          silent procession</a> filed its way through all the noise, and
            heat, and joy of the roaring thoroughfares at noon.</p>
        <p>The same day I received the note I went to the Tombs, or to speak more
            properly, the Halls of Justice. Seeking the right officer, I stated the
            purpose of my call, and was informed that the individual I described was
            indeed within. I then assured the functionary that Bartleby was a perfectly
            honest man, and greatly to be compassionated, however unaccountably eccentric.
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is trying to personalize Bartleby to a &quot;functionary,&quot; whose job, like Bartleby\'s, requires that he not make any personal attachment. Is this likely to do any good? Or does it just relieve his conscience?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I narrated all I knew,</a>and closed by suggesting the idea of letting
                him remain in as indulgent confinement as possible till something less
                harsh might be done--though indeed I hardly knew what. At all events, if
                nothing else could be decided upon, the alms-house must receive him. I
                then begged to have an interview.</p>
        <p>Being under no disgraceful charge, and quite serene and harmless in all
            his ways, they had permitted him freely to wander about the prison, and
            especially in the inclosed grass-platted yards thereof. And so I found
            him there, standing all alone in the quietest of the yards, his face
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is outside, yet even in this natural setting he is enclosed and facing a wall. There is grass here though (remember the green screen?)', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">towards a high wall</a>, while all around, from the narrow slits of the
                jail windows, I thought <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('This may be his vivid imagination at work. They may be looking out windows but they are seeing a person, not a dead brick wall.', STICKY)"
                onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          saw peering out upon him the eyes of murderers and thieves.</a> 
        </p>
        <p>"Bartleby!"</p>
        <p>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Perhaps he does, even better than the lawyer knows himself.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I 
          know you</a>," he said, without looking round,--"and I want
            nothing to say to you."</p>
        <p>"It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby," said I, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Note his strong emotion here; Bartleby\'s opinion of him matters very much to him.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">keenly 
          pained</a> at his implied suspicion. "And to you, this should
            not be so vile a place. Nothing reproachful attaches to you by being here.
            And see, <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Who does he think he\'s fooling?&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">it 
          is not so sad</a> a place as one might think. Look, there is
            the sky, and here is the grass."</p>
        <p>"I know where I am," he replied, but would say nothing more, and so I
            left him.</p>
        <p>As I entered the corridor again, a broad <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Again, an image of food.', STICKY)" onmouseout="nd();"
            class="popup">meat-like 
          </a>man in an apron, accosted me, and jerking his thumb over
            his shoulder said--"Is that <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Notice that he is now claiming Bartleby as a friend, not a former employee.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">your 
          friend</a>?"</p>
        <p>"Yes."</p>
        <p>"Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare,
            that's all.</p>
        <p>"Who are you?" asked I, not knowing what to make of such an <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('The lawyer is much more comfortable with officials.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">unofficially 
          speaking person</a> in such a place.</p>
        <p>"I am the grub-man. Such gentlemen as have friends here, hire me to provide
            them with something good to eat."</p>
        <p>"Is this so?" said I, turning to the turnkey.</p>
        <p>He said it was.</p>
        <p>"Well then," said I, slipping some silver into the grub-man's hands (for
            so they called him). "I want you to give particular attention to my friend
            there; let him have the best dinner you can get. And you must be as polite
            to him as possible."</p>
        <p>"Introduce me, will you?" said the grub-man, looking at me with an expression
            which seemed to say he was all impatience for an opportunity to give a
            specimen of his breeding.</p>
        <p>Thinking it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I acquiesced; and
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('But he doesn\'t use the name, and keeps calling him the &quot;grub-man.&quot;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">asking the grub-man his name</a>, went up with him to Bartleby.</p>
        <p>"Bartleby, this is <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why does he call him that? It seems to devalue his own claiming of friendship with Bartleby.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a 
          friend; </a>you will find him very useful to you."</p>
        <p>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Like Turkey, he makes all the sounds of subservience.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Your 
          sarvant</a>, sir, your sarvant," said the grub-man, making a
            low salutation behind his apron. "Hope you find it <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Why does he say this? Is he assuming that Bartleby is too crazy to know where he really is?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">pleasant 
          here</a>, sir;--spacious grounds--cool apartments, sir--hope
            you'll stay with us some time--try to make it agreeable. What will you
            have for dinner today?"</p>
        <p>"I prefer not to dine to-day," said Bartleby, turning away. "It would
            disagree with me; I am unused to dinners." So saying he slowly moved to
            the other side of the inclosure, and took up <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Just like the position he had assumed in the lawyer\'s office (although at the beginning, the placement of the desk forced him to look at the dead wall). Now it is clearly voluntary.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">a 
          position</a> fronting the dead-wall.</p>
        <p>"How's this?" said the grub-man, addressing me with a stare of astonishment.
            "He's odd, aint he?"</p>
        <p>"I think he is a little deranged," said I, sadly.</p>
        <p>"Deranged? deranged is it? Well now, upon my word, I thought that friend
            of yourn was a <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('a forger is someone who also writes the words of others, representing them as his own. There is a relationship with the scrivener, but he is honest about the words not being his own; he does not plagiarize.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">gentleman 
          forger</a>; they are always pale and genteel-like, them forgers.
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('He is like the lawyer here, except that the lawyer would not pity a dishonest person. Perhaps the grub-man is even more compassionate.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">I can't help pity 'em</a>--can't help it, sir. Did you know Monroe Edwards?"
                he added touchingly, and paused. Then, laying his hand pityingly on my
                shoulder, sighed, "he died of consumption at Sing-Sing. so you weren't
                acquainted with Monroe?"</p>
        <p>"No, I was never socially acquainted with any forgers. But I cannot stop
            longer. Look to my friend yonder. You will not lose by it. I will see you
            again."</p>
        <p>Some few days after this, I again obtained admission to the Tombs, and
            went through the corridors in quest of Bartleby; but without finding him.</p>
        <p>"I saw him coming from his cell not long ago," said a turnkey, "may be
            he's gone to loiter in the yards."</p>
        <p>So I went in that direction.</p>
        <p>"Are you looking for the silent man?" said another turnkey passing me.
            "Yonder he lies--sleeping in the yard there. 'Tis not twenty minutes since
            I saw him lie down."</p>
        <p>The yard was entirely quiet. It was not accessible to the common prisoners.
            The surrounding walls, of amazing thickness, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Again there is silence behind walls.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">kept 
          off all sound</a> behind them. The <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('The Egyptians, of course, were obsessed with death (and masonry). This is appropriate architecture for the Tombs.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Egyptian 
          character</a> of the masonry weighed upon me with its gloom.
            But a soft <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('In the midst of death there is life. Perhaps even in this sad death there is some hope and life for the narrator. Is that possible? At the &quot;heart&quot; of the &quot;eternal pyramids,&quot; where death lies enshrined, is life from above?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">imprisoned 
          turf</a> grew under foot. The heart of the eternal pyramids,
            it seemed, wherein, by some strange magic, through the clefts, grass-seed,
            dropped by birds, had sprung.</p>
        <p>Strangely huddled at the base of the wall, <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('He\'s in a fetal position, and at the base of the impenetrable wall. In the Brittanica film, his hands are pressed together, as if praying---obviously an interpretive directorial decision.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">his 
          knees drawn up</a>, and lying on his side, his head touching
            the cold stones, I saw the wasted Bartleby. But nothing stirred. I paused;
            then went close up to him; stooped over, and saw that his dim eyes were
            open; otherwise he seemed profoundly sleeping. Something prompted me
            <a
            href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Only when he is dead does he touch him, and the touch affects his whole body.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">to touch him</a>. I felt his hand, when a tingling shiver ran up my arm
                and down my spine to my feet.</p>
        <p>The round face of the grub-man peered upon me now. "His dinner is ready.
            Won't he dine to-day, either? Or does he live without dining?"</p>
        <p>"Lives without dining," said I, and closed the eyes.</p>
        <p>"Eh!--He's asleep, aint he?"</p>
        <p>"<a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('In other words, he is dead and with the great. The phrase comes from Job 3:14 where Job, in his sufferings, wishes he were &quot;at rest, With kings and counsellors of the earth which built desolate places for themselve', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">With 
          kings and counsellors</a>," murmured I.</p>
        <p>* * * * * * * *</p>
        <p>There would seem little need for proceeding further in this history. Imagination
            will readily supply the meagre recital of poor Bartleby's interment. But
            ere parting with the reader, let me say, that if this little narrative
            has sufficiently interested him, to awaken curiosity as to who Bartleby
            was, and what manner of life he led prior to the present narrator's making
            his acquaintance, I can only reply, that in such curiosity I fully share,
            but am wholly unable to gratify it. Yet here I hardly know whether I should
            divulge <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Note that he does not know if this is true. Perhaps his hesitancy in reporting it is because he sees it in such emotional terms, and he doesn\'t wish to reveal himself.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">one 
          little item of rumor</a>, which came to my ear a few months
            after the scrivener's decease. Upon what basis it rested, I could never
            ascertain; and hence how true it is I cannot now tell. But inasmuch as
            this vague report has not been without a certain strange <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('In other words, it elicits ideas and feelings which reverberate with his own.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">suggestive 
          interest</a> to me, however said, it may prove the same with
            some others; and so I will briefly mention it. The report was this: that
            Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('&quot;Dead letters&quot; are those which cannot be delivered for various reasons. Since this was in Washington, D.C. perhaps it indicts the legal profession and/or politicians who were passing laws to buttress the dying institution of slavery.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Dead 
          Letter Office</a> at <a href="http://raven.cc.ukans.edu/%7Ezeke/bartleby/parker.html"
            target="_blank">Washington</a>, from which he had been suddenly removed
            by a change in the administration. When I think over this rumor, I cannot
            adequately express the emotions which seize me. <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib('Perhaps it does sound like dead men, in the context of this story and what the narrator has come to understand about himself and humanity.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Dead 
          letters!</a> does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man
            by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business
            seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these
            dead letters and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they
            are annually burned. <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Notice the stories which the narrator associates with these letters--all tragic stories of blocked communications. Since he is creating the stories, it seems clear that he has been touched deeply by his experience with Bartleby. Could the lawyer at the beginning of the story, as he pictured himself, have imagined such personal tragedies?', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Sometimes</a> from out the folded paper
            the pale clerk takes a ring:--the bank-note sent in swiftest charity:--he
            whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those
            who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for
            those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities. <a href="javascript:void(0);"
            onclick="return overlib(' Some readers interpret this as suggesting that Bartleby has sped to death on an errand of bringing life to the narrator, and thus see him as a kind of Christ figure. Certainly the narrator has come to experience the reality of death deeply.&nbsp;', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">On 
          errands of life, these letters speed to death.</a> 
        </p>
        <p> <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return overlib('Why does he equate Bartleby with humanity? What does the &quot;Ah&quot; suggest? This statement, which seems to be very emotional, seems to reveal a person quite changed from the one who began this story. Has he been transformed? Some readers think not, and that he despairs for the fate of humanity. Others find this a mockery of the typical sentimental ending of stories published in<i> Harper\'s</i> (as this one was.) Your decision.', STICKY)"
            onmouseout="nd();" class="popup">Ah 
          Bartleby! Ah humanity</a>!</p>
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